


Live at the Mile High Club!

by runawayballista



Category: BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game), 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: AU where instead of shitty webnovels airplane produces shitty electronic music at a breakneck pace, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Slow Burn, and all of her music videos are steeped in lore about her extensive cast of OCs, cucumberplane goes vroom vroom, ok i lied there's one more adult and it's linguang jun, shang qinghua and shen yuan are the only adults everyone else is teen girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 80,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: Shang Qinghua has been releasing music as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky for years, drawing both praise and ire all around, but when she's left in charge of a failing live house, she has no choice but to dig the place out of debt before it pulls her under with it. Popular music blogger Shen Yuan seems to draw a crowd just by being there, so Shang Qinghua allows (begs) (bribes) her to come to performances in the hopes of attracting more bands to play. She just has to make sure that Shen Yuan doesn't find out that Shang Qinghua is also her favorite subject for vehement criticism. And keep up with the prolific output Airplane's fans are used to. And prevent the Mile High Club from toppling over into destitution and taking her with it,
Relationships: Shàng Qīnghuá/Shěn Yuán | Shěn Qīngqiū
Comments: 50
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> like all good things in life this started out as a joke that got out of hand and now i'm invested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like all good things in life this started out as a joke that got out of hand and now i'm invested

The thing is, Shang Qinghua had never really planned to run a live house.

It was just a side hustle serving drinks and cleaning up after customers, meant to supplement her other side hustle, because when you’re broke in Tokyo without a full-time job, every hustle is a side hustle. It wasn’t her fault that selling mass market appeal EDM on TuneCore wasn’t profitable enough to support her full time! Her Vocaloid productions had more of a dedicated following, but it was smaller, not quite enough to keep the cash flowing. And the music videos—which were absolutely critical to Airplane Shooting Through the Sky’s elaborate and sprawling OC lore—took so much longer to produce than a single track! Every lyric was carefully constructed to flesh out the elaborate narrative of Airplane’s musical fantasy realm! It was a lot of work for just one person, okay!

It was for that reason that production on her Vocaloid content had really slowed down ever since she started working at the live house. Some of her fans were understanding, even upping their contributions on her pay-what-you-want anime cover tracks in support, while others flipped the switch from devoted followers to vicious anti-fans who, despite their professed disgust with the new direction Airplane’s music was taking, wouldn’t stop commenting.

Well, any press is good press, right?

By far her most vehement detractor was that contemptuous Peerless Cucumber and her indie music review blog. She wasn’t a celebrity, wasn’t even a musician! But for some reason, her blog had gotten super popular in the last year, and all of a sudden producers on the local music circuit were paying attention to her opinions. She had become...an influencer!

Of all people! Peerless Cucumber, whose dubious “career” had started as nothing more than leaving rude and verbose comments on Youtube AND Nico videos (seriously! Who went to that much effort!), was now considered a voice with authority in the local music scene??

So why was it that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, who’d been sweating blood, sweat and bass drops on her aging laptop for years now, was getting all of the negative attention, and Peerless Cucumber, who had never produced a track in her life, was getting all the praise? Where were her credentials? Where was the karma?!

The fact that Peerless Cucumber kept even bothering to post about Airplane’s music after her meteoric rise to (local, very local) fame was a mystery in itself. According to the Cucumber herself, Airplane was nothing but a third-rate ““producer”” (Shang Qinghua did not appreciate her liberal use of scare quotes) whose music was steadily losing altitude with every release, and it was only a matter before she took a nosedive directly into the Pacific Ocean.

Stop with the plane crash jokes, it’s not even that funny!!

“Anyone with a laptop can shit out an okay EDM track,” Cucumber had recently written, “and the rate at which Airplane puts out new singles suggests she must have musical diarrhea.”

First of all, rude! Second of all, gross! Who told you to drag Airplane’s IBS into this!

Shang Qinghua supposed that she was grateful for the attention, because every time Cucumber posted a new review of her music, a few more clicks came her way. Any new sales also tended to increase the number of stupid comments and the time she spent ill-advisedly but hilariously engaging with those comments under sockpuppet accounts. Whatever, joke’s on them, at the end of the day, money is money!

Still, for whatever reason, Peerless Cucumber was paying attention to her, even if it was just to roast her. It was nice to be noticed. In a way, she was one of Airplane’s most dedicated listeners, someone who had been commenting since the beginning. So didn’t that mean that it was partly thanks to Airplane that she had all that fame? Of course it did. After all, if you were going to be a music critic, you had to have music to criticize!

Her part-time job at the Mile High Club pulled in enough cash to narrowly make her ends meet, but only if she kept producing music on the side. Even as she shifted more towards the less time-consuming non-vocal tracks, she was still working on her magnus opus: a full concept album voiced by Vocaloids, complete with its own set of lore-drenched music videos. Shang Qinghua had even spent a considerable amount of her (very non-disposable) income commissioning cute character designs for all of her musical OCs—it was important to have an artistic vision, okay, and not everyone wanted to make content of M*ku and her countless derivatives 24/7!—which she then used as reference for laboriously rigging 3D models for her videos. Peerless Cucumber really didn’t appreciate how much time and effort went into her work, jeez! Shang Qinghua would bet she’d never had to choreograph a 4-person dance routine with a 13” laptop screen and a very narrow apartment for practicing steps in. Never mind that Cucumber thought the choreography in all of her videos was “flat and uninspired” anyway.

But it was fine! It was fine. As long as Shang Qinghua made enough money to cover rent, cheap noodles and her budget for titties-out anime figurines, then everything was fine.

When the owner called Shang Qinghua into the office one day, she was too busy panicking over the possibility losing her job to immediately notice the suddenly strangely naked walls and all the knickknacks missing from the owner’s desk. She was still mentally composing a desperate plea to keep her miserable post when the owner offered her a promotion. Shang Qinghua froze mid-bow so abruptly she thought she might have pinched a nerve in her neck.

A promotion? Here? Shang Qinghua had barely received any attention from the owner, let alone praise, in the several months since she started working here, but now she was being offered a promotion?? Maybe the floor manager had put in a good word for her, despite all those dirty looks. Maybe those were supposed to be encouraging dirty looks. Whatever, Shang Qinghua was over the moon. A job promotion! Shit yes! Shang Qinghua had never been offered a job promotion in her life!

It wasn’t until after she’d signed the paperwork hastily shoved at her, accepted keys to the building and every locked room therein, and found the owner’s office completely empty the next morning that she realized that maybe…she should have asked a few more questions about that promotion before accepting.

And when Shang Qinghua discovered the debt notices and multiple liens against the business, she realized that she hadn’t just been made the Mile High Club’s new owner; she’d been made the fall guy! She wasn’t even sure if this was entirely legal, but it wasn’t like she had the money to like, get a lawyer or anything!

Most of the upper management had absconded along with the owner, but Yuka, the floor manager who, ah, nope, _definitely_ hated her guts was still there, along with all the staff that Shang Qinghua definitely could not pay. So not only did the owner leave Shang Qinghua all her debts, she also left all the dirty work! Miserably, Shang Qinghua thought she could sympathize with the anger of every employee being let go by the person who, three days ago, had been solely responsible for cleaning toilets and serving drinks. She’d be pretty pissed too. She probably wouldn’t have thrown a chair at the new owner, but hey, everyone processes anger differently.

She kept some of the staff on—she had to, because she had no idea how to run this place by herself—including Yuka, because she was a good manager, and Shang Qinghua needed that more than she needed her dignity. She’d just been handed this place, she at least had to keep the lights on. Also, this was supposed to be her side hustle! The other half of her income! If she let it just go under, she’d be in even worse shape than before she even started this stupid job!

Shang Qinghua still cleaned the toilets and served drinks, of course. No sense in hiring someone extra when she already knew how to do those things. Also, she couldn’t afford to hire anyone extra. Also, she really needed to handful of people she didn’t lay off to run lights and sound and teach her how to do all of those things.

Keeping the live house from shutting down consumed Shang Qinghua’s life completely. Who knew running a business was so time-consuming? And the previous owner really did wait until the last and worst possible moment to drop this problem in someone else’s lap, huh? It was all Shang Qinghua could do to keep churning out dance tracks so as not to lose her online following’s attention, but the lore-laden concept album had been put tragically aside for the time being. She couldn’t even think about commissioning any new art, not when her other job was costing her money instead of paying her.

Still, even as she hastily put herself through a gamut of online accounting classes and scouted (begged) bands to perform, there was a little glimmer of hope for Shang Qinghua. For better or for worse, she owned a live house now! So what if it was just barely staying in business? For the first time in her musical career (“career”), Shang Qinghua was looking at a stage she didn’t need permission to perform on. Could…could this finally be Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s live debut? Could she finally realize her dream of performing in front of her fans and go public with her music, and finally get the recognition she deserved? And maybe give Earless Cucumber a reason to rethink all of that criticism and say something nice for once?

As it turned out, no.

First—sigh, priorities—first, she had to get bands to play on her stage and bring in some paying and hopefully returning customers. As soon as news of the new management had gotten around, all but a few of their bookings had dropped out. What was left were the dregs, the bands who usually wound up paying half of their ticket quotas out of pocket. They were fine for filling out the opening acts, but what Shang Qinghua needed were names with recognition, bands who would bring in customers, who would buy drinks and remember the name of the Mile High Club, and encourage more bands to come play and bring in new waves of customers, and it would perpetuate into a glorious golden cycle of revenue and fame! Shang Qinghua would be on top of this in no time, and then, then she would make her debut!

She just…had to convince anyone worth anything to play at her live house. The problem was that she couldn’t afford to drop or even really reduce the ticket quota, and bands who could guarantee an audience turnout had bigger and better places with nicer bathrooms to play. It turned out the vicious cycle of debt and anonymity was even harder to escape as a business.

After a few desperate months of campaigning and a nearly empty stage night after night to show for it, Shang Qingua finally managed to book a solid Saturday night lineup. The headliners were a weird bunch to be sure (although she had to admit, DJ in a bear suit was a bold gimmick), but the leader was loudly enthusiastic about playing at the Mile High Club. Shang Qinghua was assured by a trio of women in black suits that any deficit in the night’s ticket quota was guaranteed to be covered, but that it would not be a concern regardless. When they’d appeared in the doorway, Shang Qinghua mistook them for debt collectors and immediately bolted for the back door, but once they got that little mixup cleared up, everything was just fine. In fact, they even offered Shang Qinghua an advance on the performance, which she immediately accepted, because who wouldn’t? But—

“Why, though?” she found herself asking, stupidly. Did it matter why? If someone wants to throw cash at you, shouldn’t you just bow and say thank you?? “I mean, uh—don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful, I’ll definitely take the money—”

“Kokoro-sama wishes to play here,” one of the women said expressionlessly. Okay, she was wearing sunglasses (they all were) but Shang Qinghua was sure her face would be unreadable even if she wasn’t. That was exactly the kind of person you hired to stand around in a black suit and sunglasses. “If your business goes bankrupt before the date of the concert, it would be an unacceptable disappointment. Please use these funds to cover your operating costs in the interim.”

Sweat began to bead at Shang Qinghua’s hairline. Not debt collectors, but almost as scary in this case. Okay, okay! You really don’t have to twist her arm like this, if your spoiled charge wants to play here, she can play here until the sun comes up!

But the suits weren’t lying: the little circus that was Hello, Happy World! drew a hell of a crowd. A hell of a…mostly underage crowd, granted, but soft drinks were still drinks! It was just as well that the other acts Shang Qinghua had managed to book were high school girl bands too. None of them with the same name recognition, and a couple of them looked like they were one careless word away from a drama meltdown. But this demographic wasn’t too bad anyway, was it? At least some of them had to have access to their parents’ money, spending as much on drinks and merch as they pleased.

It wasn’t just kids, either. More adults than Shang Qinghua was expecting turned up to watch the show too. She recognized some of them from rival live houses in the area—scoping out their new competition, no doubt. The rest…who knew, even high school bands could have fans that spanned multiple demographics. The crowd sure got into it, regardless of age, and customers came to the drink bar in droves in the breaks between sets, eyes shining, cheeks flushed with excitement. Aw, it actually was pretty nice to see this place packed full of people having a good time. It even made Shang Qinghua forget about her crippling debt for a hot minute.

There was one person who stood out by virtue of…well, standing aside. Rather than cheering along raucously with the crowd, this tall, dark-haired woman mostly hung by the wall, watching the performances with a critical eye through thick-rimmed glasses, tapping a closed fan against her palm in time to the beat. There was something about her that looked vaguely familiar, although it was hard to make out much of anything in the flashing lights, and though most of her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail that trailed halfway down to her waist, the hair that framed her face effectively hid her from Shang Qinghua’s view. After the first (pretty mediocre, even Shang Qinghua had to admit) opening act and the resultant flood of drink orders, the woman approached the bar, tapping her fan on the countertop.

“Plum wine,” she said as soon as Shang Qinghua turned her way. Shang Qinghua raised her eyebrows.

“Uh, sorry. Don’t have that here. Can I get you something else?”

The woman pursed her lips. “Ochawari, then.”

“Yeah, I don’t have shochu either.” Shang Qinghua gestured to the fridge behind the counter. “I have…beer?”

The lady with the fan sighed as though she were being tediously inconvenienced in some way. “Sapporo, then.”

Listen, lady, if you want fancy drinks, you don’t come to a live house, let alone one that looks like this! Shang Qinghua stifled a roll of her eyes until her back was turned, at which point she made a vicious series of faces while she grabbed a chilled beer and a glass. A little bit of doubt gnawed at her, though. _Should_ she be stocking shochu? Did other live houses actually keep that stuff behind the bar? Shit, did she need to do the kind of research some of her rivals were doing right here, right now?? But it wasn’t like she could ask the boss for a night off or anything, haha…

Shang Qinghua set the beer and glass down and opened her mouth to recite the total, but the words stalled off at the woman’s expectant look. Eyes on the beer, the glass, then Shang Qinghua’s face. Seriously? Who expects the staff at a live house to pour for them? But she couldn’t afford to offend a paying customer, so Shang Qinghua sighed internally, sucked it up, and poured the lady her beer.

“That’ll be—” she started, when the lady flashed a drink ticket at her. Shang Qinghua’s brow furrowed. “Uh, excuse me, where’d this come from? The only people we gave drink tickets to were the bands. Hey, you didn’t steal this from one of those kids, did you? Or bully them into giving it to you? That’s pretty fucked up, you know?”

The lady’s brows dropped like a curtain and she snapped open her fan to cover her immediate frown, a thoroughly supercilious gesture that was giving Shang Qinghua some inspo for a new OC. The lady firmly pushed the drink ticket across the counter with two fingers.

“I got this from _you_.”

Shang Qinghua frowned in confusion. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve met?”

The lady’s eyes rolled heavenward, as though every word was a test of her patience. “You were handing these out with flyers. You don’t remember? You ought to, you practically begged every passerby into taking one.”

Shang Qinghua squinted. Yes, that sounded like something she’d do. Yes, it…was something she had actually done in a fit of desperation.

“Hey, wait, that was two months ago!”

“I don’t see an expiration date.”

Okay, true, but— “These are for soft drinks.”

“It doesn’t say that anywhere on the ticket,” the lady said blithely. Can’t afford to offend a paying customer, right. But she wasn’t actually paying!!

Well, if Shang Qinghua cussed the lady out for unscrupulous coupon use now, the chances of her coming back and actually buying a drink were nil. So Shang Qinghua smiled through her teeth, thanked her for her patronage, and shoved the beer across the bar at her.

The lady with the fan disappeared back into the seething crowd as soon as the next started up with a roar of applause. Shang Qinghua stood back to watch and silently patted herself on the back. Hey, this wasn’t half bad! She’d only had to personally beg one of the bands playing tonight to play, and they were doing steady business with the drinks, so maybe this was actually going to work out. Maybe this was the first step on the road to that golden cycle of being able to pay both sets of bills on a regular basis.

Maybe she really could play on her own stage! Yes! Hell yes! Shang Qinghua’s dreams were totally going to come true now!

Humming a jaunty tune she had already named “Everything’s Coming Up Airplane,” she tidied up behind the drink bar. Her usually murderous-looking floor manager even returned her thumbs up with a conceding narrowing of the eyes. Haha! The spirit was infectious!

Shang Qinghua had even forgotten all about the haughty lady with the fan and her unreasonable drink standards—until Shang Qinghua followed the trailing crowds to the lobby and saw her swarmed by teen girls from the audience.

No, wait. Half of those girls were onstage tonight!

“Shen Yuan-sama! You really came! I knew you’d be here!” 

“Ahh, I thought it was only a rumor, but I came anyway just in case! I can’t believe it!”

“Shen Yuan-sama, what did you think of our performance? How did we sound?!”

“Will you review our EP for your blog? I-I have it right here! We’d be so honored!”

Shang Qinghua actually stopped in the doorway, mouth half open. What the hell? Wasn’t this the kind of attention you were supposed to shower the owner with after a good show? Who was this stranger basking in all the good vibes Shang Qinghua had worked so hard to cultivate? And it really had been a good show, too! Obviously!!

She was seeing the other woman’s face in proper lighting for the first time, and the name sounded familiar, too. Shen Yuan…Shen Yuan…wait, _that_ Shen Yuan?

Runs an indie music review blog under the name Peerless Cucumber Shen Yuan?!

Yuka bumped into her and, when she didn’t move immediately, shoved past with a snarl. Shang Qinghua didn’t even bother with a frown, staring at Shen Yuan at the center of that hard-won audience, half her face obscured by her fan. Covering up a smug smile, no doubt! What the hell! Shang Qinghua knew Cucumber had gone public with her real name and face after she’d achieved a certain level of clout in the local music scene, but she still predominantly thought of her long-time critic as Peerless Cucumber. It had definitely never occurred to her that Peerless Cucumber might turn up at a show at her own live house!

And what’s more, she apparently had some kind of teen heartthrob vibe going on! Shang Qinghua had been a teen girl once and she knew damn well that you didn’t throw yourself at a woman’s feet just to get her to listen to your demo tape. Well, okay, Shang Qinghua actually would have done that and still would now, but even so! It wasn’t like Peerless Cucumber was the only indie critic in town. Definitely nothing worth squealing over. She wasn’t even that hot! Not hot at all! That fan was her only charm point!!

But she watched, in crumbling dismay, as Shen Yuan plucked the proffered CD and the girl, whom Shang Qinghua had witnessed screaming death into a microphone not two hours ago, let out a giddy laugh and nearly melted on the spot. Shang Qinghua finally let herself be pushed out of the doorway by another disgruntled staff member. This one actually cussed her out, which was probably a thing she shouldn’t tolerate as new management, but Shang Qinghua was lucky to still have staff at all at this point, and more importantly—

There was no absolutely way she could perform here as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky now!

It really wasn’t a matter of pride. Shang Qinghua’s was more than capable of taking a few punches and she had been reading Peerless Cucumber’s harsh reviews for years, after all. But she was working so hard to build up a good reputation for the live house, so that it wouldn’t fold and she wouldn’t be stuck with the kind of debt people throw themselves off buildings over, and if an influencer like Peerless Cucumber totally panned her performance, how would she recover? That could actually spell the end for the Mile High Club!

Besides, she definitely needed to have Shen Yuan as a repeat customer. If mere rumors of her appearance drew in a crowd, then Shang Qinghua absolutely had to make sure she’d come back!

* * *

It seemed the headliner band was the only group not hanging on Shen Yuan’s every glance. Actually, their guitarist, whose princelike charm had absolutely captivated a sizable portion of the audience, was looking longingly towards the crowd—not Shen Yuan—with a kind of tortured agony on her face. The DJ who’d been wearing the bear suit just patted her arm and nudged her along out the door. Shang Qinghua didn’t see the black suits anywhere, and going by how ticket sales had gone for the night, she probably wouldn’t ever have to again. Thank god.

Not long after that, the rest of the patrons and performers began to wander out. One or two of the band members seemed to remember that Shang Qinghua was the owner of the stage they’d just performed at and thanked her in passing, but all attention passing through the lobby seemed to snag on Shen Yuan on the way out. It was a little nauseating to watch all that fawning and fanning, but Shang Qinghua wasn’t going to deliberately subject herself to the indignity of trying to get a grown woman’s attention and losing it completely to a small crowd of adoring teens.

Except it was taking _way_ too long. After another couple of minutes waiting, she started helping to usher the lingering customers out the door.

“Sorry, sorry, we’ve gotta start closing up, everyone! Thank you, thank you for coming, hope to see you again—grab a flyer on your way out, check us out on social media! You can look forward to some more sick lineups in the future!”

Shen Yuan made absolutely no effort to assist in ushering the lingering girls out of the live house, just watched from behind her fan as Shang Qinghua attempted to herd them out the door. It took forever, and just as about the lobby was about to clear out, Shen Yuan too made a move for the door.

“Wait!” Shang Qinghua all but lunged to block her from the door, arms flung out in a T-pose. “Shen Yuan—Peerless Cucumber, right?”

Shen Yuan’s reflexive little brow furrow at being intercepted shifted to a look of surprise, her eyebrows lifting. “You read my blog?”

“Well, yeah—” Largely for articles about herself, yes, but she read other posts sometimes. “I didn’t know you were that popular, though, haha. I mean—I guess people will show up to a place just because you’re there, huh?”

“Mm,” was all Shen Yuan said. Shang Qinghua could only read her expression so much with the fan in the way.

“So you should definitely come back. Next live show, I mean. Which is soon.”

Shang Qinghua really couldn’t tell what that returning look was supposed to mean. What gives? When it came to tearing Airplane’s music apart, she’d write a 5,000 word blog post, but in person all she did was grunt and nod behind that stupid fan?

“I’ll give you more free drink tickets,” she said when Shen Yuan didn’t answer. She was already prepared to resort to bribery. “For alcoholic drinks, even!”

Shen Yuan appeared to consider it. “I don’t want free drink tickets,” she said, closing her fan with a flick of her wrist.

Shang Qinghua deflated slightly. Shit, was Shen Yuan going to ask for money? She definitely couldn’t afford to bribe an influencer. Just as she opened her mouth to try and bullshit some other offer off the top of her head, Shen Yuan pointed her fan at Shang Qinghua spoke again.

“I want free _drinks_.”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth closed. Okay, that was…more than she was really preparing to give away, but still, a pretty good deal! How much could Shen Yuan possibly drink during a show?

“Okay, yes! Deal!” Shang Qinghua clapped her hands together. She never thought Peerless Cucumber would be the one to come through in the clutch, but she wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity like this. Then she rushed on before Shen Yuan could possibly rethink that decision. “Seriously, thank you. I owe you a whole-ass debt of gratitude. So when are you free?”

Shen Yuan’s eyebrows knitted slightly, but all she said was, “When’s the next show?”

“Uh…TBD. Can I text you?”

“You can DM me,” Shen Yuan said with a withering look. It had no effect on Shang Qinghua whatsoever. Yes, she will absolutely slide into your DMs, Peerless Cucumber, thank you for the invitation! Arguably this was a worse decision than giving Shang Qinghua her number.

Shen Yuan left shortly thereafter, and the lobby was empty except for Shang Qinghua and the handful of staff tidying up after the show. Yuka shoved a broom into her hand and grunted, “Don’t just stand there, help us clean up.”

Shang Qinghua’s triumphant mood could not be eroded by cranky coworkers. Tonight was a success! Tonight was a victory! That had actually been a good show, they had actually almost had a full house, and now indie music influencer Peerless Cucumber had agreed to be the Mile High Club’s personal barfly. Things were _definitely_ coming up Airplane.

All she had to do was make sure Shen Yuan never found out she was Airplane, or else she’d dump their arrangement in the trash immediately. And she had to book more bands to play in her, at this point, highly theoretical next show. She had this. She totally had this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to pell & max who team workshopped the name of sqh's live house and thank you ESPECIALLY to harry for incubating this au with me. bang dreams really do come true


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shang Qinghua hustles to put together a follow-up show so that Shen Yuan can draw an even bigger crowd to the Mile High Club, but very little goes according to plan. Luo Binghe is furious. So are a lot of other people.

Shang Qinghua did not even remotely have this. Hello, Happy World! wasn’t opposed to playing at the Mile High Club again, but they were already booked for the next month. She had really underestimated the popularity of a band that primarily played to child audiences and had kind of been banking them to headline again, but that was fine! Totally fine. She’d just find another band for her main act.

Proud Immortal Demon Way, one of the opening acts and a regular at the Mile High Club’s practice studios, repeatedly nominated themselves for the gig, but the truth was that they were just too new, and, well…as a band, kind of a mess. Sha Hualing, the lead guitarist, had a tendency to improvise solos in the middle of a song, and the drummer Six Balls sometimes lost the tempo in the excitement. Luo Binghe, the vocalist and rhythm guitarist and (in theory) leader, was just as inclined to get carried away onstage and didn’t bother trying to keep the rest of the band in line. The result was a sound that clashed more often than it resonated, more noise than music. Overall…communication was definitely not their strong point.

But Shang Qinghua had a little soft spot for Luo Binghe and her disaster band. When she’d first started working here, Luo Binghe was in the studio practicing just about every night, improvising a new chord progression and (charmingly overwrought) lyrics every time. She had a lot of raw talent, to be sure, but absolutely no sense of musical direction. And wasn’t it Shang Qinghua’s job, as an industry professional, to give aspiring young musicians a little nudge in the right direction? Sure, she was a menial worker at the live house, but she was a musician too. She had all the right sensibilities. She could spot a budding talent just as well as any scout!

So she introduced Luo Binghe to the quiet, stony-faced bassist who booked Studio B on Thursday nights. Shang Qinghua had to admit that Mobei Jun was also a little intense for her age—and tall! What were high school kids eating these days!—but figured she’d probably be a good foil to Luo Binghe’s manic approach to music. And it turned out they already knew each other from school, so it wasn’t even much of an introduction to make. Just a little nudge, just like that.

It didn’t take long for Sha Hualing, Meiyin, and Six Balls to come together with them as a band, and—a point of personal pride—Shang Qinghua had even suggested their name. It suited their image, and Luo Binghe seemed to like it, because she latched onto it immediately. But it seemed that since the moment they declared themselves Proud Immortal Demon Way, the only thing Luo Binghe wanted out of Shang Qinghua was time on that stage. The only reason Shang Qinghua kept letting them was because Mobei Jun made up for their ticket quota every time, and Luo Binghe didn’t even have the good sense to be grateful about it.

Ah, teenage girls were so heartless! Didn’t the gracious and encouraging menial worker-turned-owner deserve a little more credit than that?!

Still, Luo Binghe was a persistent and stubborn thing, weirdly intimidating for a seventeen-year-old girl, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t bring herself to say no. She found herself giving Luo Binghe an “I’ll think about it” instead. That might come back to bite her in the ass later, but that was a problem for Future Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua mostly moved in the online electronic music circles, and while she’d become more acquainted with the local girls band scene from the last year or so of working at the live house, the Mile High Club had never really managed to nab any top artists. So Shang Qinghua hit up the best reference she could think of: Peerless Cucumber’s blog.

Shang Qinghua’s desk chair creaked plaintively as she climbed into it, gingerly blowing on a steaming cup of instant noodles. The chair listed slightly to the side as Shang Qinghua shifted her weight—either one of the wheels was broken or something had gotten caught in it, she hadn’t bothered to check—and a splash of scalding water spilled onto her bare thigh.

“Ffffuck,” she hissed, stifling a spasm that would have resulted in noodles all over her laptop, and set the cup down on her desk with a heavy thud. She scrubbed at her leg with the hem of her tank top, but the angry red marks were already there. Her work clothes were abandoned on the floor around the entrance to her tiny bedroom, and it was too hot to wear pants. That was the beauty of living alone! No one was around to care if you hunched over your laptop in your underwear like a sweaty little gremlin, just as Shang Qinghua was doing right now.

She perused the tags on Peerless Cucumber’s blog, mostly looking for reviews of live shows she’d gone to. There was no shortage of girl bands in Tokyo’s bustling indie music scene, though Cucumber’s reviews were rarely gentle. Yikes, she didn’t go easy on anyone, did she? Shang Qinghua wondered what it must be like to be that joyless. People who spent all their time roasting others in blog posts and getting into fights in the comments really had too much free time on their hands.

A couple hours, another cup of noodles, and two beers later, Shang Qinhua was…not feeling very optimistic. The only problem with this idea was that all of the bands Peerless Cucumber reviewed were way out of the Mile High Club’s league! Shang Qinghua gnawed anxiously on a hangnail, cycling through the 25 tabs’ worth of blog posts she had open, just trying to find someone attainable. That’s right! She didn’t have to book the best, she just had to fill up the stage, and Shen Yuan would bring the customers in droves!

Shang Qinghua sketched out a shortlist of bands to invite on the back of an envelope floating around her desk and went to close the cascade of blog tabs. But she paused after the first few rapid clicks as she noticed a new update. Shang Qinghua’s heart leapt. Was it a review of the show at the Mile High Club? Was Shen Yuan going to give her a little free publicity in return for the free drinks? Shang Qinghua clicked through with gusto. Haha yes!

No.

Not a post about the latest show…a post about Airplane’s latest single!

She’d pushed it out in a bleary, sleepless daze the day before the show and then immediately forgotten about it in favor of wrangling the logistics of setlists and equipment breakdown. It seemed that instead of writing a rave review about the Mile High Club’s fantastic comeback show, she’d poured all of her time and energy into yet another rambling hate post. Was that why she was so grumpy back at the live house? Was she just all chafed over the unending parade of disappointment that Airplane’s music brought her?

No one’s forcing you, okay! Haven’t you ever heard of “don’t like, don’t listen”!

Shang Qinghua read the blog post anyway.

> Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s new single, “Seven Veils of Ice and Rain”, is unlistenable garbage.

Come on! That’s not criticism, that’s just flaming! What happened to your posting standards, Cucumber??

> As the terrifyingly prolific Airplane manages once again to shit out another mediocre track on her dubiously fast-paced schedule, I have to wonder: what kind of quality is she sacrificing for sheer quantity? This and her last four releases have been based on “listener requests” (read: donator requests) and it’s just as bland as the rest. After a point, doesn’t this level of fanservice get in the way of artistic integrity? There certainly isn’t any to be found in this song, because Airplane’s releases of late have all the artistic soul of a vinegar fart. I’ll save you and your wallets the trouble, readers: don’t bother with this single.

Okay, so if you’re so convinced her music is always trash, then why are you still subscribed to her Patreon? Besides, those “donator requests” were her bread and butter right now! You try thinking up a concept for a hot new dance track every other week, it’s really hard, okay!

> I could forgive this track’s mind-numbing mediocrity if it at least maintained some thematic cohesion, but it doesn’t even have that going for it. Why bother titling it something like “Seven Veils of Ice and Rain” if that’s not even remotely evocative of the sound? Where are the cascades of cool synths, the sense of progression, the occasional crystalline chime with the beat? There isn’t so much as a sampled vocal in this track—it sounds more like bass drops in the jungle than anything as delicate as “ice and rain”! Frankly, I’m embarrassed on behalf of the entire music community that Airplane continues to label this trash as EDM. With the number of bass drops per minute rising in every track, she might as well be honest and call it dubstep!

Shang Qinghua sat back in her hair, tipped back her head, and rolled her eyes back as far as they would go.

> What makes this all the more frustrating is that Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky clearly has some measure of talent that she’s chosen to completely squander in favor of producing this endless stream of generic DJ fodder. Her now-scrapped concept album actually held a touch of promise, and this blogger was, dare I say, actually looking forward to reviewing it. But it looks like that day will never come, so Airplane really is a disappointment all around!

Peerless Cucumber brought up the shelved (not scrapped!) concept album in almost every post about Airplane’s music these days. It was a little weird. Sure, Peerless Cucumber had once been a little more favorable in her reviews, and the reviews of Airplane’s laboriously produced vocal tracks were always the longest. She’d even point out some good things about Airplane’s music, but it was usually to highlight the bad points, like the “florid lyric writing purple enough to put an eggplant to shame” and “repurposed chord progressions from relatively successful releases, thereby devaluing her music as a whole”. And then there was the lore! For someone who claimed to be done with Airplane’s music time and time again, she sure knew a whole lot about Airplane’s pantheon of musical OCs, citing the kind of stuff you’d only know digging through old forum posts and liner notes.

Maybe she just missed having a broader range of things to complain about when it came to Airplane’s music. Sorry, Cucumber, she was way too busy with her other job now to provide you with more perverse entertainment!

Shang Qinghua closed her laptop with a sigh. As WTF-inducing as Peerless Cucumber’s reviews could be, they didn’t really get under her skin. Okay, she would definitely appreciate some nicer reviews if only to score her some more downloads, yes. But the truth was, she kind of agreed with Peerless Cucumber on one thing: the stuff she’d teased for her concept album really was a lot better!

She glanced at the wall next to her desk, plastered in overlapping posters and prints and more than a few of her own drawings. Most of the prints here were character art she’d had commissioned of her OCs, and just looking at it brought a wave of intense longing to work on her passion project. She didn’t have anywhere else to go for the rest of the night. She had a buffer for her next release in reserve. She could blow the dust off and just dabble a little, right? Even business owners needed to do things to relax, right?

Shang Qinghua knocked over one of the empty noodle cups on her desk as she all but sprung from her desk chair to unearth her favorite synth, recently buried under old issues of music magazines and several unwashed hoodies (they’re out of season, who has time to do extra laundry?). With a gleeful little hum, she wiped the dust from the keys with her work shirt, plugged it in, and got to jamming. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky always was happiest when she was making music.

* * *

“Fuck! Fuck! Ffffuck!”

She was late! She was beyond late! They didn’t even open up until noon, it really wasn’t that hard to be on time!

And yet 3pm the following day saw Shang Qinghua sprinting breathlessly from the train station to the Mile High Club, nearly seeing stars. It wasn’t her fault she got into a groove, stayed up playing until 4am, and then unceremoniously passed out before remembering to set an alarm! That’s just what happens when an artist doesn’t get to make real art for too long!!

She was panting by the time she made it to the live house in rumpled clothes she’d scavenged from what she was pretty sure was the clean pile. Yuka looked up from the pile of dust she was sweeping up.

“Hey, she’s not dead,” she called over her shoulder. Shang Qinghua dragged herself through the front door with staggering steps.

“Why didn’t you text me,” she half-wheezed, half-whined to her most senior employee (since the assistant manager had quit almost immediately after Shang Qinghua’s “promotion”), who had never respected her from day one and probably, definitely wasn’t going to start now. She dragged herself behind the counter and fished a bottle of water out from the cooler.

“I figured you’d either show up or you’d be dead,” said Yuka with a shrug. 

“And what if I was dead?”

“I dunno, I guess the police would tell us when they found your body?”

Ouch, ouch! But on the other hand, Shang Qinghua probably should be counting herself lucky for having staff who’d open and run the store even if she mysteriously disappeared. She nodded in concession to this and pretended she didn’t see Yuka roll her eyes as she carted off the dustpan.

Why did she think she needed to discipline her employees? If she did so much as scold them, she probably wouldn’t have any left. So it was totally fine if they didn’t really respect their boss as long as they kept the live house running!

The workload was light, too. They had a few practice sessions in the studio booked for today—they’d seen a small uptick in reservations since the last show—but as Shang Qinghua stood in the lobby, catching her breath, she realized the bulk of her work wasn’t going to be in the studio. She finished chugging the bottle of water and tossed it at the trash. It missed by about a foot. “So, uh, you guys are good here, right?”

Yuka’s murderous gaze moved from the empty water bottle to her boss. “You just got here—you’re _leaving?_ ”

Shang Qinghua was already finger combing her hair to tie it back in an uneven bun. “Well, somebody’s gotta scout some bands so we can have another show and I can continue to pay you. The hustle never ends, you know?”

Yuka looked supremely doubtful, but she wasn’t about to argue with the prospect of getting paid. “Is that why you were late?”

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua said instantly with a firm nod. Yuka squinted at her for an uncomfortably long moment, then shrugged once again. Shang Qinghua practically flew out the door.

* * *

“Please come play at our live house next Saturday!”

Five teenage girls with instruments slung over their shoulders exchanged a dubious glance amongst themselves. It was weird enough for a grown woman to bow in entreaty to a couple of high school students, particularly just outside their school, but it was definitely weirder when she got on her knees and actually started begging! One of them looked at her bandmates uneasily before answering.

“Um…it’s not like we’re totally uninterested or anything, but it’s kind of short notice, isn’t it?”

Yes! It was incredibly short notice! But if Shang Qinghua didn’t pull together a gig soon, Shen Yuan would probably forget about the Mile High Club altogether and the live house would collapse under the weight of a thousand debts!

“What’s the ticket quota?” another girl asked curiously.

“Twenty-five,” said Shang Qinghua, but after a couple of uncertain hums, she quickly amended it to, “Twenty!”

“Hm...we have a couple hundred followers on Twitter, we might be able to get enough people to come…”

“Yeah, but for next Saturday? Everyone’s probably already busy!”

“True, we’re really only available because our show that weekend got postponed…”

“Shen Yuan will be there,” Shang Qinghua added hurriedly. Just as she’d hoped, the namedrop had an almost instant effect on the band. Five pairs of eyes widened, and a couple of them smiled dreamily.

“Shen Yuan? You mean the music blogger?”

“Seriously? Shen Yuan-sama is going to this show?”

“Oh my gosh! Is she a regular at your live house?”

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua lied, like a liar. “She’s there all the time! If you come play at our live house, you’ll definitely get to meet her!”

The uncertain murmuring was starting to turn to a little stream of excited burbling. Shang Qinghua held her breath.

“Hm…but if we can’t enough people, can we afford to cover the quota?”

“Are you kidding? If Shen Yuan is going to be there, the place will probably be packed!”

“It’ll be worth it even if we do have to pay! One good review from Shen Yuan-sama and we’ll get invited to play at the good venues!”

Shang Qinghua, whose ego could easily absorb the blow of truth that her live house was not one of the “good” venues, was over the moon with relief when they finally said yes. Booking get!!

* * *

The humble little Mile High Club was nearly at capacity the next Saturday night, to Shang Qinghua’s dizzying relief. Granted, the dizzying part was because she hadn’t slept in three days, spending all of her free time tossing flyers at would-be patrons like a cartoon pizza chef dealing out pies, but it was worth it! A solid four-band lineup; none of them were particularly famous, but as Peerless Cucumber liked to point out, she could always manage quantity where quality was lacking. There were still some customers milling around the lobby when sound check finished and the first band started their set, but they were steadily drifting into the performance space. No one really got their hype on for a band with a total of two songs up for download, but the vibe was set. People were getting excited and ordering drinks; even her floor manager looked a little less sour for once. There was just one problem.

Shen Yuan hadn’t shown her face yet!

“Hey,” said Yuka, shouldering past a few customers on her way out of the performance space. She was frowning, but that wasn’t any great indication. It was kind of her default expression. “Some of the bands are asking about Shen Yuan—”

Shang Qinghua jerked out of her overtired daze, eyes burning. “Is she here?!”

“No,” Yuka said slowly, giving Shang Qinghua a dubious look. “Did you tell people she was going to be here?”

“Yes! I mean, she said she’d be here, of course I told people! How do you think I managed to book four bands for tonight?”

Yuka’s eyebrows creeped up in an expression that clearly said _well that explains a few things_ and grimaced slightly. “Okay, but I don’t think we’re going to _keep_ all four bands booked if she’s not here. Do you know when she’s supposed to show up?”

Shang Qinghua looked down at her phone, where she’d been relentlessly refreshing Peerless Cucumber’s Twitter feed. Not a single update all day! How was Shang Qinghua supposed to keep tabs on her personal cash cow if she wouldn’t post minute by minute updates of her exact activity and location??

Ugh, did the woman not understand basic social media etiquette? If the messages have been clearly read, you need to send a reply! You can’t just leave the other person hanging!!

Shang Qinghua fixed a smile on her face and slid her phone into her pocket with sweaty palms. “Just, uhh, tell them she’s on her way, okay?”

“Right, sure.” Yuka’s voice had gone back to the bored, flat tone she usually addressed the proprietor of this establishment with. “What if they start getting antsy?”

“Give them free drink tickets, t-shirts, whatever! Just don’t let them leave, okay!”

Shang Qinghua hoped that if she stared at the glass front doors desperately enough, Shen Yuan would spontaneously walk through them. She said she would come! She…okay, well, she didn’t promise, and technically Shang Qinghua had never gotten a confirmation, but still! She had promised the free drinks, why couldn’t Shen Yuan promise to show up for them?!

Her phone buzzed as the opening act’s first song wound down to its conclusion with a neat little drum fill, and her heart leapt. But no, no Twitter notification—just a text from Yuka: _there’s a line at the bar get back here we have customers_.

Ah, at least she had such dedicated and hardworking employees. The day she was alone at the Mile High Club would be the day she was well and truly fucked.

As Shang Qinghua shuffled towards the performance space, casting a look back at the front doors with every step, she heard Luo Binghe ask Yuka about Shen Yuan with heartbreaking hopefulness. It still wasn’t that late! The show had only just started! There was still plenty of time for Shen Yuan to show up!

So why did Shang Qinghua feel like she was getting stood up by a date?!

The first act had enough energy to keep the crowd engaged for a little while, but it was clear that Shen Yuan’s no-show thus far was starting to buzz around the audience and, more importantly, the performers. They were really the highest stakes here; if there were no bands, there was no audience, period! The antsy atmosphere reached its height once the first band was finished and striking their equipment, with no act to occupy the audience. Luo Binghe’s eyes were glued to the door even as Sha Hualing pulled her onstage and Six Balls helpfully plugged her amp in for her.

“We’re Proud Immortal Demon Way,” Luo Binghe said into the mic after a long, reluctant pause, finally tearing her eyes away from the door. Ack! Step it up a notch, kid, you’re totally going to kill the vibe in here!

Fortunately, Sha Hualing was there to pick up the slack by howling the title of their first song, “Winter in the Endless Abyss,” into her mic along with the first shrill guitar riff. Shang Qinghua’s teeth ached—did she even tune her guitar before they played?—but once they were rolling, Luo Binghe’s red eyes had that fierce intensity she always played with, infusing the crowd with energy, and Shang Qinhua relaxed by measures, letting out a slow breath.

And then, in the middle of Proud Immortal Demon Way’s third song, all five girls in the lead act marched up to the drink bar, their gaze laser-targeted on Shang Qinghua. Her immediate instinct was to make a run for it, but she couldn’t exactly escape surrounded by customers, so she was powerless to do anything but stand there with a nervous and preemptive take-pity-on-me smile.

“Where is Shen Yuan-sama?” the leader demanded, slamming a hand on the drink bar. Shang Qinghua jumped, then winced internally. How were these the same girls she’d begged outside their school gates to play here? They’d been all cute and demure then. Since when were they so scary! There should be a statute of limitations on an attitude like that! Shang Qinghua was well past her university days, she shouldn’t be intimidated by teenagers anymore!

“She’s on her w—”

“That’s what the manager said forty-five minutes ago! I don’t see her anywhere!”

“Is she actually coming?” another one of the girls piped up. She was their tiny lead guitarist, shorter than the rest by half a head, but her little voice still carried. “Was that a lie just to get us to play here?!”

“No!” Shang Qinghua said, the words spilling as quickly as she could make them. “No, she’s definitely coming! She said she’d be here, she’s just, uh, running late, but she’ll definitely be here in time for your act—look, I’ll give you more drink tickets, just don’t leave!”

Shang Qinghua clapped her hands together, clearly begging. Other customers were starting to eye her with mixed unease and disdain. That’s fine, that’s fine! Her customers can think she’s as pathetic as they want as long as they’re still paying!

“Please! Please just hang around and finish your set! Your ticket quota is way taken care of—if you play, I’m sure you’ll make some extra money off merch! Please stay, I am _literally_ begging you!”

The leader stared her down with a look that could have melted ice. Shang Qinghua was about ready to climb on the bartop to kowtow, but the leader only slammed her fist on the counter again and said loudly, “If Shen Yuan-sama doesn’t show, we walk!”

Did she have to say it just as soon as Proud Immortal Demon Way finished that song, loud enough for the whole live house to hear?!

Luo Binghe’s guitar stopped in the middle of the final riff, her eyes wide. She searched the audience with darting eyes, squinting against the lights, and when she set her gaze toward the drink bar where Shang Qinghua stood, helplessly cornered, it was ablaze.

“Shen Yuan-sama’s not here?”

No, no, did you have to say it directly into the mic! Please, spare this humble shop owner her life!

Dozens of heads turned, each pinning Shang Qinghua to the spot. Was this what “glaring daggers” truly meant? She felt like she’d just been run through with a hundred swords, and the crowd hadn’t even done anything yet!

Murmurs started amidst the audience, largely of the disgruntled type, and Shang Qinghua felt nervous sweat beading at her hairline. Oh, god. Was this going to be how she died? Torn apart by an angry mob at a failing business? She was too young to die! And she didn’t have anyone to clear out her browser history!

With no real answer, Luo Binghe was convinced of the worst. She tore her guitar off and threw it on the stage with a yell and a resounding squeal of feedback and bolted for the door, tears in her eyes. Mobei Jun sighed, stooping to unplug Luo Binghe’s guitar and bring a merciful end to the noise, just as a painful pop sounded from the speakers. Sha Hualing ran after Luo Binghe, but damn, that girl could move. Shang Qinghua heard the distant crash of the front door mere seconds later.

After that, all hell broke loose.

* * *

At the end of the night, Shang Qinghua considered herself fortunate that all four of her limbs were intact and, despite a customer landing a lucky hit on her forehead with a (plastic, but heavy) cup, more or less unscathed. There had been a whole lot of angry yelling and throwing of small objects, but for the most part, the audience and bands stormed out in an angry huff rather than resorting to vandalism.

What was left was still a mess, though. An expensive mess, Shang Qinghua thought with a cringe as she mentally tallied up what it was going to cost to replace the damaged equipment (Luo Binghe had blown out an amp in her fit of pique), hire a cleaning service (customers too far to throw their drinks at Shang Qinghua had resorted to throwing them on the walls instead), and convince her scant few employees to stay (Yuka was looking real Done right about now). Dammit, she had worked so hard to set this up! This was supposed to be a success!

God dammit, Shen Yuan, you completely screwed her over!

“Please don’t quit,” Shang Qinghua babbled immediately as soon as the floor manager approached her. It seemed her panic was on point, though, because Yuka drew her brows down and crossed her arms. Shang Qinghua immediately dropped to her knees, hands clasped together. “Please! I need you! I’ll be completely screwed if you quit! Please don’t!”

“I want a raise,” said Yuka flatly. Shang Qinghua deflated.

“You know I can’t afford to—okay, okay, yes! You can have a raise, you can have whatever you want, just please don’t leave!”

“I’ll keep collecting paychecks until you run this place into the ground,” said Yuka, and walked out. Shang Qinghua sighed, fished the broom out of the supply closet, and started cleaning up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the disastrous live show, Shang Qinghua is desperate for bands to book for the Mile High Club. On a tip from Shen Yuan, she seeks out the help of another live house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bringing in some bandori girls for that sweet sweet worldbuilding. i didn't mean for shang qinghua to be so gay in this chapter but she can only hold it in for so long you know

After the exhausting and unmitigated disaster that was this weekend’s show, Shang Qinghua was prepared to drop her miserable ass in bed as soon as she got home and pass out into blissful unconsciousness. If she wasn’t conscious, she didn’t have to think about how thoroughly fucked the Mile High Club was. It was nearly midnight when she clumsily keyed open her apartment and stepped over the small pile of newspapers she kept forgetting to take to the trash. She stripped off her work clothes and dropped them tiredly onto yesterday’s pile, ambled over to her futon, and out of habit, glanced blearily just once at her open laptop screen. The bottom of her stomach dropped out. No, no, no…

In all the rush to prepare for the show, she’d completely forgotten to release a new track this week!

Even though she had a buffer! She should have been totally fine, she just…fuck, she totally forgot it was supposded to go out last night! And now the subscribers on her early release tier were out for blood, leaving a string of vicious comments and messages berating her for letting down her adoring (paying) fans.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Shang Qinghua seriously wondered if she’d have to give up her music career as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky in order to save the live house. But she couldn’t do that—whatever Peerless Cucumber and her other critics said, music was her life! Also her livelihood, because she really didn’t want to be the owner of a failing business forever. And if she dropped off the scene, all her fans, all that traction she’d worked so hard to gain over the years would be impossible to recover!

Shang Qinghua slapped her laptop closed, threw herself onto her futon, and screamed into her pillow.

Everything was not coming up Airplane! Everything was coming down Airplane! Mayday! Mayday! God dammit, even Cucumber’s stupid quips were stuck in her head!

A pathetic round of tears and a couple of beers later, Shang Qinghua was feeling…well, not better, but less like throwing up. Okay, so she missed the deadline, but only just barely! She could make it up by posting it tomorrow with a big apology, maybe some bonus content? She had to have something lying around she could toss up…okay, she was totally going to come back from this. Everything could still come up Airplane!

* * *

The next morning, Shang Qinghua woke up to a fresh post on Peerless Cucumber’s blog, putting her on blast for failing to get her early release out on time.

Okay, what gives! First you criticize her for putting out too much material, now you’re mad because she didn’t release this one on time? Make! Up! Your! Mind!

It really wasn’t Shen Yuan’s fault that Shang Qinghua had been too wrapped up with event planning to remember her own schedule, but at this point in time, she had no reservations about adding this to the pile of things to blame on her. The fact that Shang Qinghua woke up with an angry stomach because she’d had nothing but beer and coffee after noon the previous day, too, was getting added to the pile.

She texted Yuka to let her know she’d be calling out sick and prayed that the rest of her staff weren’t going to do the same. She needed to do some damage control, which meant a whole lot of digital ass-kissing to convince people not to drop their subscriptions. Yuka didn’t respond, but that was fine. She usually didn’t.

Fortunately, Airplane was only a day and change late on the new track, and the groveling apology-slash-excuse (waahhh so sorry everyone, she was struck down by a stomach bug and couldn’t even crawl far enough to reach her laptop _ :(´ཀ`」 ∠):_ ) and a mini set of samples she’d been saving for another tier seemed to save her subs for the most part. There wasn’t anything she could do about Peerless Cucumber’s blog post—it’d probably be followed up in a few days with a scathing review of the late track—but as long as her fans stayed, it was fine!

Never mind the fact that she was running out of buffer material, and she hadn’t had time to finish anything new lately. And there was no rest for the destitute! Studio sessions weren’t going to cut the bill; she still had to book another show! Shang Qinghua was dreading the hustle that awaited her. It had been hard enough to book a follow-up to a successful show—who’d be willing to play at the Mile High Club now? She couldn’t afford to go two weeks between shows at this point.

Gnawing on that hangnail, Shang Qinghua flipped through her notes in search of a solution. Hello, Happy World! was booked for a while, although maybe she could slot them in for a later date, assuming she was still operating then. Ah, no, she had to forge on with a positive attitude! There were tons of bands in this city, and maybe word about last night wouldn’t spread too far. In retrospect, this time around, Shang Qinghua was nauseatingly relieved that Peerless Cucumber had chosen to write about Airplane’s music and not Shang Qinghua’s live house. 

But it was hard to maintain a positive attitude when she was poring over accounting records and scheduling. One of the only—no, _the_ only nice thing Yuka had ever said to her was that Shang Qinghua was actually good at this logistics stuff, but that didn’t make her hate it any less. And no administration finagling was going to save them if all the money ran out.

Shang Qinghua chewed on a pen in thought and was rewarded for her trouble with a mouthful of blue ink and a freshly stained t-shirt. While she rinsed her mouth out in the bathroom sink, accepting with resignation that she was probably permanently staining the porcelain, she considered the possibility of a loan. Hahaha no. No bank in the country would offer her a loan now. But even though the event had, technically, sold very well, they’d had to refund a whole lot of tickets, and the damage expenses alone were enough to put them back in the red. She was grateful that the guitar Luo Binghe smashed hadn’t been a rental.

Wiping her face and chest off with a towel, Shang Qinghua looked around her one-room apartment. Her gaze settled guiltily on the shelves bearing her collection of figures. She could…sell some of them? The thought was physically painful. She clutched at her chest. Well, she probably wouldn’t be able to get the money quick enough anyway. Case closed. She reviewed her personal accounts (okay, account) instead and concluded, with a sigh, that she’d just have to cover the difference out of her own pocket. Not for the first time, either. Last month she’d forgone paying her own rent in favor of keeping the lights on at the live house. Her landlord sighed and said she’d accept a late payment…Shang Qinghua just hadn’t said how late it would be.

At the end of the night, Shang Qinghua finally received a response from Yuka. It consisted only of a few pictures of the live house still in a miserable state of disarray with the caption we did our best. Shang Qinghua smacked her phone against her forehead three times and sent a text to her staff informing them that the live house would be closed for cleaning tomorrow.

After a dinner of reheated curry and half a can of Pringles, Shang Qinghua attempted to be productive. She had a few sketches she could work with, see if she could wrangle those into a cohesive new song. But for once she was struck with composer’s block. Everything came out feeling flat and forced and after an hour, she gave up and closed her laptop. This was the worst time to fall into a creative rut, but all the stress and lack of sleep lately was totally drying up her mojo!

Shang Qinghua needed inspiration. More importantly, she needed just one night of fun. She didn’t like being this stressed! She wasn’t cut out for it! If she had to be in charge of a business, why couldn’t she be the laid back, hands off kind of boss who never had to deal with logistics? She put on a fresh shirt, pulled a pair of leggings out from under her blanket, and headed for the door. If she had nowhere to be tomorrow, then she was not going to spend the night miserable at home!

* * *

Shang Qinghua’s preferred karaoke joint was small, permanently stained with cigarette smoke, and served watered-down drinks, but their hourly rates were reasonable and they didn’t gouge their customers with a spending minimum. Plus they had a pretty good selection, so Shang Qinghua never got bored of coming here when she needed to blow off some steam. She wasn’t, you know, a good singer, there was a reason she never used her own voice for her music, but that really wasn’t a requirement when you were singing to a tiny, empty room. It was fun, and that was all that mattered about karaoke.

And it worked! After a couple of hours of cheap drinks and belting out nostalgic chart toppers from her college days, Shang Qinghua felt a little more pep in her step. What was more, she felt like her creative batteries were finally charged again. She could totally spend the day making music, and she’d probably be super productive, even with the hangover she was currently destined for! Yes! Tonight was a good night to be Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky!

She collected her bag and headed for the door. Then she spotted a familiar fan and froze mid-step.

Actually, the fan wasn’t familiar at all, the lighting in here was too dim to tell, but the dark hair pulled back into a long ponytail, the thick-rimmed glasses and the general aura of aloofness — who else could it be? Shang Qinghua was reasonably sure enough that she made a beeline to the bar and threw out an accusing finger.

“Shen Yuan! I can’t believe you stood me up!”

Okay, when she phrased it like that, it really did sound like a date.

Shen Yuan stared blankly at her from behind the fan for a few moments, then blinked. “Ah. The Mile High Club, right?”

“Yes, the Mile High Club you were supposed to show up at on Saturday!” Shang Qinghua glared, but it mostly came off plaintive, and her voice wound up into a whine. “What gives? You said you’d be there! I sent you, like, a ton of DMs!”

“Ah.” Shen Yuan’s gaze shifted to the side, lifting one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “I had something else going on that night.”

“What, and you couldn’t even send me a reply?” Shang Qinghua’s voice came out as a whine. Not that it would have mattered—she would’ve begged Shen Yuan until she caved—but still! No one liked being ghosted!

“I was indisposed,” Shen Yuan said crisply. Shang Qinghua choked slightly. What was that supposed to be, code for getting laid? Talk about a thinly veiled brag. Nah, there was no way Shen Yuan was actually as cool as she or her inexplicable legion of fans pretended she was.

“What, you mean like writing ranty blog posts?”

Shen Yuan’s eyes narrowed and, Shang Qinghua imagined, probably pursed her lips behind her fan. “Did you need something?”

Yes! You! But Shang Qinghua was going to use more words to say it. Two words were not enough to convey her desperation. But just as she opened her mouth, Shen Yuan held up a hand.

“One drink.”

“Uh?”

“Buy me one drink, and we’ll talk.”

One drink just for a conversation? Wasn’t this kind of a downgrade from their prior arrangement? Was this some kind of weird negging pickup strategy??

But Shang Qinghua sighed and pulled out her wallet. Her pride was used to being benched anyway. She really, really needed a comeback and as far as she could see, Shen Yuan was pretty much her only hope for climbing out of this hole.

Shen Yuan flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink Shang Qinghua had never heard of but sounded expensive; Shang Qinghua, who had stuck to cheep beer all night and wasn’t about to quit now, ordered another. She glanced over at Shen Yuan, who was preoccupied with her phone and had shifted her fan to an angle that still covered her face, and wondered if she was planning to drink with a really long straw.

“Please come to my live house,” Shang Qinghua said the second the bartender left. She was mad, yeah, sure, but that didn’t mean she was above begging! “Seriously. I meant it when I said free drinks, as many as you want! Just come and hang out! Saturday was a disaster!”

Shen Yuan’s eyebrows lifted. “Did no one show up?”

“No, a ton of people showed up! Because they thought you were going to be there, and you weren’t, and they were pissed!”

“And why were they so convinced I was going to be there?”

Shang Qinghua opened her mouth. It was obvious, wasn’t it? “Oh—y’know, rumors.”

“Mm.” After a moment: “Okay.”

Shang Qinghua blinked. “Okay?”

“I’ll come to your next show.”

“Seriously? Do you promise?”

Shen Yuan let out a little sigh. “Yes, I’ll make sure my schedule is clear this weekend.”

Yes! Yes! Fuck yes!

Shen Yuan cleared her throat. “Are you done?”

Shang Qinghua hadn’t noticed that she was pumping a fist along with her inward cheers. She (badly) pretended she was just stretching and lowered her arm, reaching for her drink. Who knew her pick-me-up karaoke night would end with cause for celebration?

“So who’s playing at your next show?”

Shang Qinghua’s smile froze. “Haha, well, that’s the thing! Considering the last event ended with an angry mob, I don’t, uh, have anyone lined up just yet!”

Shen Yuan, who looked like she was beginning to regret that promise, lowered her fan to take a sip of her drink. Shang Qinghua was almost disappointed she didn’t have a really long straw. She turned her glass in her hands, making little wet rings on the bartop.

“But…you know, like, a ton of bands,” Shang Qinghua said tentatively. “You’re probably—actually, you’re definitely more familiar with the whole scene than I am! You probably even know who’s looking for gigs right now, sooo…” 

She trailed off hopefully, but fully prepared to argue her case. Shen Yuan closed her eyes and pressed two fingers to the bridge of her nose.

“No.”

“No, you don’t know any bands looking for gigs right now?”

“No, I am not going to be your booking agent!” Shen Yuan snapped her fan shut and set her drink down with a muffled thud. “You’re the one with the live house, book your own show. I’m the one who writes about it afterwards.”

“So you’ll definitely write about the show?” Shang Qinghua said, immediately switching tacks. The corner of Shen Yuan’s mouth twitched.

“I only write about good shows,” she said airily. Hey, what’s with the different standard for events and music?! “So, _if_ you manage to put together another show— _if_ it’s good—I might write about it for my blog. But I’m not scouting for you just for free drinks.”

Shang Qinghua’s pitiful look must have been effective, because after a moment, Shen Yuan exhaled a tiny sigh through her nose and reached into her bag. She produced a business card and slid it across the bar to her with two fingers. It was the same little gesture as the drink ticket.

“I suggest you start with her.”

Shang Qinghua picked up the business card and turned it over in the dim light. “Uh, this is another live house. Why would they help me?”

“You don’t have any other leads, do you?”

Shang Qinghua’s mouth turned down in a frown that looked like more of a pout. “Well, no, but—seriously, you’re not gonna name drop even like, one band? Just a tip?”

Shen Yuan rolled her eyes, finished her drink (how was something so expensive so small!), and stood up. “Thanks for the drink. DM me later. Good luck booking your show.”

It was hard to tell from her tone if she meant it encouragingly or sarcastically. Maybe both. Before Shang Qinghua could babble out a good excuse for her to stay, she was already gone with a swish of her hair. Shang Qinghua slumped back against the bar, watching the door. 

Wait, why would she bother getting Shen Yuan to stay any longer if that was as far as her help went? Shang Qinghua would probably wind up buying the next round too, and she was the one on the brink of personal and professional destitution!

Shang Qinghua sipped down the last of her drink as she inspected the business card Shen Yuan had given her. She really would have preferred a direct hookup, but this was…something, at least? Maybe this was what they called industry networking! Feeling significantly more optimistic than when she’d walked in, Shang Qinghua pocketed the business card and headed home.

* * *

CiRCLE was not only a bigger live house, it was also a much nicer looking one. Looking at the tidy signage, gleaming windows and the bustling little cafe, it made the Mile High Club look almost seedy in comparison. Shang Qinghua observed (observed, not stared) at the storefront from across the street, debating whether or not Shen Yuan had sent her here as a rude joke. Thanks, Peerless Cucumber, she already knows what a successful business looks like, okay!

But Shang Qinghua hadn’t gotten this far in life by being afraid of embarrassment. She’d check her pride at the door and scatter her dignity like rose petals if it meant closing this month out in the black. And she would throw herself at the feet of the person Shen Yuan had referred her to and grovel if she had to!

There was a little buzz of activity at the cafe, mostly local students hanging out on a weekend afternoon. The inside of the lobby was just as crisp and clean as the outside suggested; the floors were polished, the lights were high and bright, and the walls were impeccably organized with racks of magazines and instruments. There were fewer customers in here, just a small cluster of girls talking with an employee at the counter, wrapping up their studio session for the day. She saw them off with a wave and a cheerful smile, then turned her warm brown eyes on Shang Qinghua, who chose to use that moment to convert her awkward loitering to a more or less confident stride towards the counter. 

“Hi there! What can I help you with today?”

And here was another thing the Mile High Club was missing: charm! Maybe they’d get more walk-ins and return customers if they had someone this cute and friendly at the counter. Shang Qinghua didn’t possess a fraction of the grown-up moe factor this woman emanated with that seemingly effortless smile. It was the girl-next-door look that really seemed to—anyway. Shang Qinghua cleared her throat.

“I’m looking for Tsukishima Marina,” she said, holding up the business card and hoping it looked more like a power pose than it felt. The woman brightened and came out from behind the counter to offer a polite bow. 

“Well, you’re in luck, because that’s me! Someone gave you my card?”

Shen Yuan, you need to warn someone when you’re introducing them to someone this cute! The girl-next-door vibe is even more potent up close! 

Shang Qinghua executed a jerky bow in response, discreetly tugging at the hem of her rumpled shirt. It wasn’t that she was opposed to doing laundry before meeting with industry rivals, but she’d kind of used the last of her cash on Shen Yuan’s drink last night. Whatever, this was from the clean pile. At least, it had been clean a few weeks ago. 

“Ah, yeah, a friend—” Shang Qinghua decided she didn’t want to find out just now if Shen Yuan’s magnetism extended to adult women, too. “She said you might be able to help me out. I mean, she didn’t say how. She just kind of gave me your business card and said ‘go talk to her’.”

With every word, Shang Qinghua was feeling less and less sure about this strategy. Who walks up to their competition and asks to be cut in on a little of their business! Who in their right mind would actually do that! But she was here and already committed and without any other options, so she plowed on without giving Marina a chance to say anything.

“The thing is, ownership of this live house kind of got dumped on me without warning and it’s in terrible shape—seriously, aside from the staggering debt, the whole space looks like the inside of a garbage dumpster compared to this place—and if I don’t get bands playing on our stage soon, the whole thing is going to fold and I’ll have to fire all of the staff and then myself, and our last live show was a hot flaming disaster and I’m out of bands to tap for performances, so if you could please maybe give me a lead on some bands with flexible standards even though I’m technically your competition I would owe you my totally worthless life okay please thank you!”

By the time she was finished, she was on her hands and knees in the middle of the lobby. It was embarrassing—it was pathetic, yes, but pity could be very powerful! And pity was the emotion that Shang Qinghua was best at evoking in other people!

Marina stared down at her helplessly for a beat, but then let out a little laugh, one hand to her head. “Oh, you’re the new owner of the Mile High Club, aren’t you?”

Shang Qinghua looked up, startled. That…wasn’t a response of total ridicule? 

“Oh, uh…we haven’t met, have we?” Shang Qinghua was pretty sure she would remember that josei manga smile.

Marina shook her head. “No, but word gets around, you know? Besides, it…was kind of an open secret that something was up with management there, ahaha.”

Shang Qinghua choked back a noise. Why was this the first she was hearing of it then? Marina let out another laugh, this one a little awkward, and waved her hand at Shang Qinghua.

“Come on, no need for you to be on the floor. If you need some kind of help, why don’t we go sit down and talk about it? We can start with your name.”

Hm, yeah, she probably should’ve led with that. She scrambled to her feet, tugging at her collar, and cleared her throat. “Ah, yeah—I’m Shang Qinghua, nice to meet you. But—I’m like, your business rival, aren’t I? Why would you want to help?”

“Oh, you’re not my business rival.” Marina said it with a smile on her face, but the words landed on Shang Qinghua like a pile of bricks. “Besides, while we might both be vying for audiences, it doesn’t really benefit us to start dwindling in number. Shang-san, let me just ask you one thing—do you care about the music here?”

“Yes,” Shang Qinghua answered automatically, but then actually considered it. “I mean—yeah, of course I do. Music is my passion! It’s why I found a job at a live house in the first place. I just didn’t expect to end up owning one, haha…”

Seriously, it was slowly sucking the life out of her—physically, creatively, financially. If there was anything left of Shang Qinghua but a withered husk by the end of the year, it would be a miracle. Marina offered her a sympathetic smile, guiding her over to a table tucked away in a corner.

“I can’t say I know what it’s like to own a live house,” she admitted. “I’m just a manager here. But I do know that it’s a labor of love for all of us here. You know live houses aren’t just businesses—they’re a place for music to grow, for musicians to find and hone their sound. And the atmosphere of every live house here is just a little bit different, offering its own energy and support to the bands that play there, influencing their music in unique ways. We want the music scene here to keep growing, but if there’s nowhere to play, then that growth is stifled, even strangled. So losing a live house would really just hurt the scene. I’d hate to see that happen.”

Shang Qinghua blinked. That was…a really sincere and earnest answer? Maybe Shen Yuan actually was trying to do her a favor by pointing her here? She retracted all unfavorable thoughts about Shen Yuan for now.

“Aah, really? You’re really willing to help me out?”

Shang Qinghua was nearly in tears with relief. Three cheers for pity! Marina patted her arm and gave her an encouraging smile.

“I’ll see what I can do. I’m guessing you need a band to headline?” She tapped a finger to her chin in thought. “We’re still in music festival season, so a lot of the bands are pretty busy, and I can’t say I know all their schedules, but…hm…the Mile High Club has kind of a basement grunge vibe, doesn’t it?”

You can just say “dank and dirty,” really, it’d be a lot more honest!

“Sure,” Shang Qinghua said, “let’s go with that. You know a band that wants to play in a grungy basement?”

“Mm…well, there are a few bands that fit that image, yeah. I think I might know one or two to recommend for an audition.”

Shang Qinghua threw her hands up. “They don’t need to audition, they just have to be willing to show up and bring in a few customers!”

Marina gave her a little frown that actually did make Shang Qinghua feel a hot flash of embarrassment, and she shrunk back with a helpless shrug.

“You have to audition bands before you let them play on your stage. It shows that you have standards and gives them something to strive for, so you’ll get their best possible performance.”

“But I don’t have standards,” whined Shang Qinghua.

“Ahaha…then at least pretend you do, for the sake of your live house’s reputation. I mean, think about it. Why would an aspiring band want to play at a live house that doesn’t take pride in its stage?”

Hmm. Okay, she had a good point. After all, Shang Qinghua took pride in her own music, and that had to be part of Airplane’s appeal, right? She still wanted to make the live house someone else’s problem as soon as it was no longer on the verge of collapse, but in the meantime…

“I’ll forward your information to a couple of bands and encourage them to contact you,” Marina said, tucking Shang Qinghua’s business card into her wallet. “Let me know how it goes, hm? I’d like to come see the show, if I’m able to.”

Shang Qinghua kept on thanking Marina right up until she backed her way out the front doors. As soon as she was on a train back to her apartment, she ran a little mental victory lap. Things had really started to look bad for a minute there, and while she wasn’t in the clear yet, there was still hope for recovery. If infusing the Mile High Club with a sense of pride was the way to bring bands in and save it from the brink, then Shang Qinghua would fake it till she made it. Not today, debt collectors!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always many many thanks to harry/ormery for helping me create this junk food, without whom this would not exist


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Shang Qinghua secures Afterglow for an audition, Proud Immortal Demon Way backs out. Desperate to pull together a lineup in time for the next show, Shang Qinghua makes some questionable choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it is not evident i do not have, as they say, an "update" "schedule"

“We’re not playing,” Luo Binghe said adamantly.

“What?!” Shang Qinghua felt her stomach simultaneously drop with a whoosh and threaten to eject her breakfast. “You always play here! Even though you never meet your ticket quota! You can’t drop out on me now!”

She had kind of been counting on Proud Immortal Demon Way as the only band she wouldn’t have to beg to play here. They didn’t bring in a ton of customers, but they filled space pretty well, and when they could get their instruments all pointed in the same direction, they actually sounded pretty good. But here Luo Binghe was, flatly turning down the first formal offer to audition the live house had ever extended to her band. It was unnerving how cold and disdainful a teenage girl could look. Aah, betrayal! Shang Qinghua was the one responsible for your band forming in the first place, show some gratitude!

“You said Shen Yuan-sama would be at the last show. She wasn’t.” Luo Binghe crossed her arms. “If she’s not here, then I’m not playing.”

“Okay, but she’ll be here next time for real!”

“Liar.” Luo Binghe’s eyes flashed. “There’s no point in playing here anymore if Shen Yuan-sama won’t be here to watch. We’ll find somewhere else to perform.”

No one else is going to take you, okay? Your band is a mess! You ran offstage in tears last time and broke your own stupid guitar!

She seemed to have acquired a new one in the interim, and she was gripping it so hard she was white-knuckled.

“What’s the big deal?” Shang Qinghua asked desperately, wringing her hands. She looked past Luo Binghe towards the rest of the band, all busy packing up their instruments after practice, but they were all obviously listening. The only one who didn’t occasionally look over to sneak a glance was Mobei Jun, her expression as stony as ever.

“Proud Immortal Demon Way has outgrown this stage,” Luo Binghe said coolly, lifting her chin. She really was way too tall for a high school girl! Shang Qinghua should be looking down at her teenaged patrons, not up! “If this place isn’t good enough for Shen Yuan-sama, it’s not good enough for us.”

Shang Qinghua would have laughed if this wasn’t an immediate threat to her ability to pay the rent. Don’t you read Peerless Cucumber’s blog? Nothing is actually good enough for her!

“It’s just one show, please! I’ll—” Shang Qinghua clutched at her stomach. She was feeling an ulcer coming on. “I’ll comp the rest of your ticket quota! Whatever! Just don’t bail on me here!”

But Luo Binghe just turned away with a little _hmph_ and started for the lobby. The rest of the band trailed after her, and behind them, Shang Qinghua, babbling out any bribe that came to mind that wasn’t a cash handout.

“Okay, okay! One free studio session a week for the next month! All you have to do is audition!”

“Meiyin-senpai? Is that you?”

The owner of the new voice was one of another group of five students in the Mile High Club’s front lobby, the front doors swinging shut just behind them. A pink-haired girl with lively green eyes waved ecstatically at Proud Immortal Demon Way’s keyboardist, hopping away from her own group to say hi. Meiyin’s own eyes lit up and her mouth curved into a pleased smile.

“Himari! What are you doing here?”

“Us? We’re here for an audition, of course!” Himari unslung the bass case from her shoulder with a triumphant little turn. “Hey, don’t tell me—is this the band you’ve been playing with? So cool! Then you’re here for the audition too, right?”

“Ah, well, actually…” Meiyin smiled, but there was a trace of chagrin in her look as she glanced at Luo Binghe. Proud Immortal Demon Way’s vocalist was totally uninterested in Meiyin’s friend; instead, her gaze was fixed on one of the guitarists in tow. Just by the way she stood at the center of the band, arms crossed and expression stoic, it was obvious she was their lead singer. Shang Qinghua choked a little when she saw her.

Black hair, red eyes…effortlessly cool disposition…a black and red ensemble to match that practically screamed garage band…that was exactly the coveted look Luo Binghe had been striving for all this time! She even had a red streak in her hair, a bona fide rock’n’roll look!

Shang Qinghua’s palms started to sweat. Today was already going way off-script—was she going to have to break up a battle of the bands in her own lobby? Knowing Luo Binghe, it wouldn’t be just a little catfight, either.

“Hii-chan~” The sleepy voice came from the other guitarist, a pale-haired girl who poked Himari in the shoulder and did not stop once she had Himari’s attention. “Friend of yours? How come we’ve never met her?”

“Moca! Cut it out!” Himari slapped her hand away. Undeterred, Moca continued poking. “Meiyin-senpai goes to another school, but she lives near my neighborhood! She’s the one who tells my fortune when my day really needs a boost. And her family runs a beauty parlor, so I can get a pedicure at the same time! It’s pretty much the perfect package! Actually, Meiyin-senpai, if you’re free later, could you…?”

Meiyin laughed lightly. “Of course, of course. It’ll be nice to catch up, too.”

“Is this because you got a bad horoscope today, Hii-chan?” Moca said, touching her chin with a sneaky grin. Himari glared at her.

“That magazine columnist doesn’t know a thing about Scorpios! And what do you know about horoscopes, anyway!” Himari huffed. “Anyway, Meiyin-senpai’s been telling me all about the band she joined a little while ago. I was kind of hoping we’d get to see them play…”

Meiyin gave Himari a pat on the head. “Mm, I’m sorry, Himari. Maybe another day. But it’d be nice to watch Afterglow perform. I think we should stay just a little longer, hm, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe didn’t answer or even look away, still staring intently at the black-haired guitarist. Moca followed her gaze.

“Ooh, looks like Ran’s got a new fan~”

The lead singer Ran, noticing the stare for the first time, gave Luo Binghe a puzzled look, but that cool rock star air didn’t falter. Luo Binghe looked away immediately, her own expression shuttered and cold. Shang Qinghua was starting to wonder if losing Proud Immortal Demon Way might be a blessing in disguise.

“We’ll watch,” Luo Binghe decided finally. Meiyin looked pleased, and flashed Himari a warm smile and a wink.

“Good luck. I’m sure you’ll knock ’em dead.”

Shang Qinghua, as the party about to be knocked dead, raised a hand. Yes, hello, there is an adult in the room here!

“Ah, hello, so you’re ready to get started? It’s Afterglow, right?”

The band seemed to notice her for the first time, and Himari greeted her with an enthusiastic bow. “That’s us! Thanks so much for inviting us to audition here!”

“Oh, you guys are totally the ones doing me a favor,” Shang Qinghua said with no trace of shame, waving Afterglow into the performance space. And then, with a tiny sigh to herself, Proud Immortal Demon Way. She really had no idea what Luo Binghe might do watching Afterglow’s audition, but she could guarantee a scene if Shang Qinghua decided to (try to) force them to leave.

Himari and Meiyin kept up the friendly chatter while Afterglow set up their equipment and ran a brief sound check. Yuka joined Shang Qinghua for the audition, leaning back against the drink bar with her arms crossed. Shang Qinghua, having never formally auditioned a band before, did the same.

Ran grabbed the mic, introduced the band, and they immediately plunged into a rush of drums and guitar. It was…a pretty incredible performance? It wasn’t that Hello, Happy World! had been any kind of slouch, it was just that they were so, uh, musically unique that it was hard to tell where they landed in the grand scheme of things. But Afterglow…with that powerful sound, this was a real rock band, in every sense of the word!

“Are you really sure you want to play here?” Shang Qinghua blurted out the second the final drum fill ended. Himari and Ran looked at each other in blank confusion. Yuka dug an elbow into Shang Qinghua’s side.

“Send us your setlists no later than 48 hours before the show. Rehearsal on Saturday starts at 3.”

Afterglow started striking their equipment with a little chorus of excitement. Luo Binghe’s eyes burned into the back of Ran’s head for a long moment before she abruptly turned and headed for the door without a word. Meiyin gave Himari an apologetic smile, promised to text her later, and hurried after her band.

Once the live house had cleared out, Yuka smacked Shang Qinghua on the shoulder with a glare. “When a band passes an audition, you don’t offer them an out!”

“Ah, hey, ow! I’m your boss, you know!”

“So start acting like it! What if they’d walked? They were the only ones who agreed to an audition!”

Shang Qinghua cowered away with a feeble effort of shielding herself from Yuka’s slaps. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you’re right! I definitely won’t do that again! Please just stop hitting me!”

Yuka huffed out a snort, but she stopped anyway and abandoned Shang Qinghua in favor of cleaning up the rest of the performance space. Rubbing her arm, Shang Qinghua contemplated the room at large. That was one band down and one band out…two more to go. Alright, if she could book Afterglow, she could find a couple of opening acts!

* * *

The live house hustle didn’t slow down after that; it only picked up the pace, making the Saturday deadline feel somehow both closer and farther away. It might be a little easier to convince new bands to play now that Afterglow was slated in, but they were still horribly short on time. Despite the many yearning looks at her synths and a little bit (a lot) of plaintive whining to her empty apartment, she buckled down and used her spare time at home to keep researching bands, send out (hopefully only professionally desperate sounding) emails, and mock up flyers for distribution. She couldn’t afford to pay Yuka and the others overtime, so…

This was really sucking the life out of her creatively, she thought glumly as she dragged herself to the Mile High Club for another day of work. This life really didn’t suit her. She was sleeping like garbage, eating like garbage (more than usual) and, this afternoon in particular, feeling like garbage. Once upon a time, she’d mentally check out of this job the second she was out the door, and all her time at home (ah, she had so much more time at home before this all started!) was split comfortably between sleeping, anime, and churning out music in hours-long spurts of feverish creativity. And while her income had always been dependent on her output, it was wildly different now that she had so little time to spend on it. The crunch was real, and Shang Qinghua hated it.

Yuka was tidying up behind the counter when Shang Qinghua came in, and after a brief glance at her boss, set a water bottle down on the counter in front of her. Shang Qinghua wobbled over to the counter, her heart swelling. Yuka was never so nice or considerate to her! Going so far as to offer her boss a fresh bottle of water first thing in the morning (afternoon)...was this what respect felt like?!

“You look like shit,” Yuka said, immediately popping the little bubble of hope, but in a tone of voice that suggested she was slightly concerned about it.

Shang Qinghua caught her reflection in the window. Ah…yeah, she really did look like a hot mess right now. Alarmingly so, apparently. She tried to finger comb her hair into place, gave up immediately, and pulled it up with the hair tie that took up permanent residence on her wrist. Maybe…she should have showered today?

“Any auditions today?” Yuka asked, and it was as though the concern had never been there at all. Maybe for the best. Shang Qinghua thought that maybe Yuka’s total lack of respect for her employer was what kept her sharp, so it didn’t seem worth changing. She’d take every little sliver of productivity they could get right now.

“No,” Shang Qinghua sighed. “A maybe for tomorrow.”

“We’re starting to cut it kind of close, you know.”

“I knowww.” Another sigh, this one more like a whine. “I still can’t believe Proud Immortal Demon Way backed out like that. They wouldn’t even be a band without this place! And we wouldn’t be down an act. I think word about the last show finally got around, too, because some of those emails bounced back with a no almost immediately. It was uncanny.”

“You’re not still telling people Shen Yuan’s going to be here, are you?”

“No! I mean, not as a selling point, anyway!” Shang Qinghua reflexively cringed away from Yuka’s incredulous look. “Ah, don’t hit me! She actually promised this time, okay! She’ll really be here!”

“Did she say she’d be here _today?_ ”

Shang Qinghua blinked, and followed Yuka’s bemused gaze behind her. The doors swung quietly shut as Shen Yuan stepped inside, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses with the light touch of a finger. She looked as cool as ever—her expression was, anyway. Maybe the folding fan and high-waisted maxi skirt combo did it for the music blogger crowd, but as Shang Qinghua watched her adjust the collar of her cardigan—it was August! Who needed a knit sweater in this weather!—when combined with the years of vitriol and hot-and-cold reviews from her, Shang Qinghua’s primary impression of Shen Yuan was that of a nicely dressed-up basement dweller. Pot, kettle, yes, but Shang Qinghua didn’t have any illusions about herself, okay!

A prolonged “ah” was all Shang Qinghua managed for a moment as her two fried brain cells furiously rubbed against one another. They came to life with a crackle, and Shang Qinghua snapped her fingers.

“Aaah, hey! It’s you! You came!” She paused, hanging awkwardly. The show was still a little less than a week away. “What’s up, did you need something, or…?”

Shen Yuan blinked at her, then tilted her head, chin lifting slightly. It only seemed to amplify the ‘looking down at you’ effect she already had on Shang Qinghua, at her height. “I seem to recall you promising something about free drinks.”

“Oh, uh—you mean, like, now?”

Shang Qinghua had really meant free drinks at shows, but here she was on a Sunday afternoon, with…a messenger bag that looked like it might have a laptop in it? Hold up, was she here to work while she mooched off of Shang Qinghua’s (desperate) good will? This isn’t a café, okay!

Shen Yuan’s eyebrows lifted expectantly. Shang Qinghua slapped a smile over her face.

“I mean—yes, yeah, come on in! Totally! There’s some seating right this way…”

She waved Shen Yuan over towards the set of small tables and chairs just outside the performance space. Yuka’s eyes widened dangerously, and she mouthed _what the fuck_ to Shang Qinghua, who just threw up her hands with a pleading look.

“So, before you ask, we still don’t have shochu,” Shang Qinghua said. Up went those little eyebrows on Shen Yuan’s forehead again. 

“It’s not even one o’clock on a Sunday,” she said. “I’ll just have a coffee, thanks.”

“Sure, sure. You want anything to eat with that?”

Ugh, why did she say that! She was already giving this lady enough stuff for free! But Shen Yuan turned her down mildly, and Shang Qinghua trudged to the drink bar to get the lady her coffee. 

A hand came down hard in a chop on the back of her neck while she was standing over the fridge, and immediately smacked her forehead against the freezer door. 

“Ow—fuck, hey!”

“What are you _doing?_ ” Yuka demanded. “Is this place not hemorrhaging money fast enough for you? You want to start giving free studio time now too?”

Shang Qinghua, who had offered exactly that to Luo Binghe, said, “No! Of course not! Listen—put your hand down, okay, I am your boss, you know!”

She hadn’t actually expected that to work, but Yuka lowered her hand with a begrudging roll of her eyes. Shang Qinghua grabbed a cold can of coffee and pressed it to the back of her neck. 

“Before you go and get all madder, listen! I promised her free drinks _at shows_. But—she’s already here, right? And if word gets out that Peerless Cucumber hangs out at the Mile High Club in her spare time, that can only improve our reputation! Which is pretty bad right now!”

“God,” Yuka said, “that is _such_ a stupid handle.”

“So stupid,” agreed the asshole who released music under the name Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky. “But popular! She’s so popular and I really don’t get why, but the bands like her more than me, so we need her here!”

“Nobody really likes you,” Yuka said helpfully. Shang Qinghua ignored her. 

“Yuka.” She grasped her floor manager by the shoulders and looked at her dead in the face. Yuka’s gaze slid to one of Shang Qinghua’s hands, the corner of her mouth turned down in displeasure. “I know you’ve never respected me as your boss—”

“I never respected you as a coworker, either.”

“—But you have to believe me that I’m thinking of the live house first and foremost here! Whatever you think of me, I really don’t want this place to close down, and I’m doing everything I can to keep the lights on!”

“Because it’ll lead to your financial ruin if you don’t?”

“Yes! I mean, no! Well, yes _and_ —” Shang Qinghua thought about what Marina had said, about the flourishing music scene here in Tokyo and the role that even just one live house played in that scene. Her grip on Yuka slackened. “I actually do care about the music, you know? I like seeing people up on that stage. The energy in the room when the crowd and the band are in sync—I know you care about that too! So please, I’m asking you, okay, I’m begging you…give Shen Yuan whatever she wants if it keeps her here!”

Yuka peeled Shang Qinghua’s fingers from her arms. “Okay. Fine. Just let go of me. Ugh, how do you have such a strong grip?”

Shang Qinghua opened her mouth. Yuka swatted her shoulder.

“Go bring that coffee to your celeb crush already so you can get some _actual_ work done.”

“Not a crush! Not even close! In fact, she’s—”

But Yuka was already walking away with clear purpose. Rubbing the back of her neck, Shang Qinghua grabbed a second can of coffee for herself before heading back towards Shen Yuan.

As Shang Qinghua expected, she’d set up shop with her laptop at one of the tables, and she was pulling…what looked like a meat bun from a convenience store from her bag?

So Shen Yuan was the kind of person who brought outside food to a place that sold snacks! And to a place where she was already drinking for free…it took guts, okay, Shang Qinghua had to admit that! But she still felt kind of taken advantage of!

“Coffee for you,” she said, setting a can down on the table. Shen Yuan, who appeared to have earbuds in and already settled into work mode, gave Shang Qinghua a nod and a little smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was a clear dismissal.

The very least you can do when someone gives you free drinks is open your mouth and properly say thank you, okay!

Shang Qinghua’s afternoon was consumed largely by phone calls, emails, and a lot of sweating over invoices, leaving little time to check up on Shen Yuan. Which was fine! She didn’t need Shen Yuan here to hang out with her, just to be seen. And she didn’t need to do any checking, really, because Shen Yuan didn’t move from that spot for hours, apparently absorbed in her work. The only other time she actually spoke to Shang Qinghua was to request a second can of coffee.

It occurred to Shang Qinghua in the middle of a very terse phone conversation with the accountant at the cleaning company that she really ought to be leveraging a little more out of this than Shen Yuan just sitting there like extremely Online lawn decor. The lady had a serious social media following; they should be using that! Surely she could wheedle her way into convincing Shen Yuan to signal boost the show, give the Mile High Club a little press. The second Shang Qinghua had begged off the phone with a slurry of apologies and promises to send a check that didn’t bounce, she bounded out from the office into the lobby.

“Hey, so, I was thinking, Shen…Yuan?”

The seating area was empty save for an empty can of coffee. Shang Qinghua let out a little breath, deflated. Not so much as a goodbye! Yuka paused in the doorway to the rehearsal spaces and said, “Oh, yeah. You just missed her.”

Shang Qinghua wasn’t the only one, apparently. Standing just past Yuka, emerging from rehearsal with guitar in hand, was Luo Binghe. Her bright red eyes were fixed on the doors Shen Yuan had just walked out of, burning bright. Shang Qinghua took a tiny involuntary step backward. Yuka brushed past Luo Binghe, who barely seemed to notice.

Shang Qinghua had only just sat back down at her desk when a whole-ass guitar was dropped onto it in front of her, making her jump. Luo Binghe was staring down at her with the kind of single-minded intensity usually reserved for bloodlust. Shang Qinghua’s stomach did an uncomfortable, wet flop.

“Okay, seriously, you cannot keep breaking your guitars in my—”

“We want to audition for the show.”

Right. Of course. Luo Binghe was all teen tantrums over being invited to audition at a live house she deemed beneath her station, but now the object of her obsession had been seen leaving the building. Shang Qinghua sat back in her chair with her arms crossed, trying to look like someone who owned a business that wasn’t failing.

“Oh? I thought you’d outgrown this lowly stage, huh?”

Luo Binghe’s eyes narrowed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees. “You said Shen Yuan-sama would be at the next show. If that really is true…then let us audition.”

“You know, I already offered you an audition,” Shang Qinghua said, “and you turned it down. You called me a liar, even. That hurts, you know! I’ve always rooted for you guys!”

The ferocity of Luo Binghe’s returning glare was enough to make Shang Qinghua shrink back in her chair. Just then, the sense memory of Yuka slapping her over and over was incredibly strong.

“Okay, okay, yes, I’m sorry, you can audition! Please just pick up your guitar and stop throwing it around, you’re gonna take somebody’s arm off!”

Luo Binghe picked her guitar off the desk with one hand and slung it back over her shoulder. “We’ll audition tomorrow,” she said, and left. Shang Qinghua leaned forward on her desk and rubbed her face. This was…a win, right?

* * *

Proud Immortal Demon Way’s audition didn’t blow Shang Qinghua away the way Afterglow’s had, but they didn’t have to. Shang Qinghua was going to give them the spot anyway. She really, really didn’t have time to scout two bands when the show was only a few days away.

Luo Binghe seemed pleased when Shang Qinghua formally invited them to play, a spark of excitement in her eyes. Six Balls and Sha Hualing high fived each other with such enthusiasm that they toppled one of the hi-hats. Meiyin was the only one to actually thank Shang Qinghua for the opportunity, and Mobei Jun…had pretty much the same stoic expression as ever.

That was all well and fine, and Shang Qinghua was thrilled, she really was! But the concert was really starting to loom on the horizon. The other band that had tentatively agreed to an audition backed out at the last minute, having gotten an audition at some other, better venue. Ah, the Shen Yuan appeal wasn’t bulletproof, it seemed. Shang Qinghua was getting so, so sick of answering emails, and whenever her cellphone rang, she had to resist the urge to throw it out the window. Being a small business owner really sucked, okay!

And then there was the other half of her life, the one that belonged to Airplane Shooting Through the Sky. She felt kind of guilty at how neglected her own music had been lately. Not for lack of trying, but still…she was lucky she had another buffer track to toss out this week, but she was going to have to get down to music production real soon if she didn’t want to lose any more subscribers.

On Thursday night, feeling about sixty percent defeated, Shang Qinghua buried her phone under a pile of dirty laundry and cracked open her laptop. She couldn’t afford to go out tonight, but looking at positive comments to stroke her ego was free! Whatever Peerless Cucumber’s blog said, Airplane still had a sizable fanbase, and there were people out there who really enjoyed her music. It was a nice reminder when she’d been spending all of her time busting her ass to showcase other bands. Shang Qinghua kicked off her pants, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and crawled onto her desk chair.

Oh, jeez, here was the true mark of how busy she’d been: she had a ton of unread comments on a number of posts, plus a stack of social media notifications she’d barely had time to notice. Shang Qinghua pored through them hungrily, batting aside the negative commentary and soaking in all the praise. Aw, she even had a few messages from some of her personal favorite fans, a starry-eyed bunch of girls with matching avatars who claimed Airplane as one of their inspirations. They’d been proclaiming their interest in music for about as long as they’d been subscribers. It was pretty heartwarming, actually. Shang Qinghua’s chest swelled just a little bit.

> idc what anyone else says i love all ur new stuff 😭 pls never stop!!  
>  btw we finally formed a band like we said!! we even recorded something hehe... (≧∇≦)/  
>  i know ur like super busy but we would totally die if u listened...... 🙏🏼  
>  one day we’ll totally do a concert and send u a video!!! we’ll even give u a shoutout!!!

Idly curious, Shang Qinghua clicked through to their band’s SoundCloud and had a little chuckle at their name. Moon Dew…it was kind of a silly name for a band, but it was a clear reference to one of Airplane’s more popular music videos, a song about a fantastical world of botany. Granted, it was really popular because she’d managed to make something look nice; the song, not so highly rated. Peerless Cucumber had condemned the lyrics as “rambling drivel, even for Airplane”.

But the band…wasn’t half bad, actually? They sounded new and awkward, their sound still figuring out how to fit together, but she thought their songwriting was pretty solid for a new band. It was structurally sound, just in need of some refinement. Shang Qinghua listened to their most streamed song (around 300 hits) a second time and found herself nodding along. And hey, according to their Twitter profile (53 followers) they were local.

Shang Qinghua rubbed sweaty palms on her thighs as an idea simmered to the surface. It wasn’t necessarily a good idea. Mixing Airplane’s online presence with her real life was a dangerous prospect. She kept those separate for a reason, and right now reason number one was Shen Yuan. This could get very sticky very quickly.

But she also really, really needed a third band to play in two days.

She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and went to close her laptop. It was late, they probably wouldn’t see it until tomorrow, and it wasn’t even remotely a sure thing. Better to just sleep on it instead of staring at her laptop until 3am.

A notification popped up.

That last was total bullshit, but Shang Qinghua had to keep things separate somehow. The fan thanked her with a babble of emoticons, promising to email right away, and Shang Qinghua closed her laptop and let out a long, slow breath. For better or for worse, she had a solid maybe on an audition tomorrow. All she had to do was keep things from falling apart until Saturday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> afterglow is a cool band and you should [give them a listen](https://open.spotify.com/artist/4Gahj9N72kVKOBZbKMu0OI?si=IFMkU2TnSMOyfc7g9F55Mw)
> 
> i also made a [~musical mood board~ for proud immortal demon way the band](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0mbbM0Cw4gTfLqEaeDYPj0?si=XNiqqs-sTcWRi4N1VDAATg) if you're curious what luo binghe & co's garbage music sounds like
> 
> as always thank u to my bff and coconspirator harry/ormery.... truly where would i be without u


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the Afterglow show is finally here, but will Shen Yuan show as promised? Will Moon Dew blow Shang Qinghua's cover? And what's with Luo Binghe suddenly changing the genre?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's important to note that shang qinghua 100% owns a pair of sweat shorts with RESPECT THE HUSTLE printed on the ass

The day of the show was upon Shang Qinghua so quickly it gave her whiplash. Friday seemed to fold in on itself the second they secured Moon Dew, and she slept so hard she forgot what year it was when she woke up. She had a small panic over being late as she tried to remember how numbers worked, staring at the time on her phone, until she realized she had three hours before she had to be anywhere. 

The atmosphere at the Mile High Club felt upbeat for the first time since the disaster show. Even Yuka seemed to be in a relatively good mood, her sour expression toned down to something bland instead.

“Wow, someone’s here early today.”

The clock over the front counter signaled the time as ten-thirty in the morning. Yuka’s eyebrows registered her surprise. 

“Aah, Yuka, you never give me any credit! Besides, aren’t you the one here early?”

“I’m here at this time every day.”

“And I am so fortunate to have such diligent employees! Especially you, Yuka, you lead everyone else by example! One that everyone should follow!”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t. You are the one who sucks the most at this job.” Yuka peered at her. “What’s in the bags?”

Shang Qinghua lifted two paper bags with a shameless smile. The neck of a bottle poked conspicuously from each of them. “Just did some shopping on my way in.”

“At a liquor store? Wait.” Yuka’s eyes narrowed, and she reached for one of the bags. “I recognize that label.”

“Ah, wait, don’t drop it—”

Yuka swiftly extracted the bottle and examined it before turning that comfortably familiar murderous look back on Shang Qinghua. “Did you seriously buy shochu? Couldn’t you at least have gotten the cheap stuff?”

“It’s an investment, okay! We need to keep our number one customer happy tonight!”

“How is she a customer when she doesn’t even pay!”

“Investment! Investments bring returns! It’s all going to pay off!”

Yuka chased her out of the room with a glower. Shang Qinghua grabbed the bottle from her and sprinted for the drink bar.

But even with the attractive lineup and Shen Yuan’s promise that she’d show, anxiety gnawed at her stomach as the bands started to show up with their equipment in tow. She’d been looking forward to today, but now that it was actually here, her brain was buzzing with three spreadsheets’ worth of logistical gymnastics too much for her to enjoy it. She tried to watch the setup while she prepped the drink bar and closed the fridge over her hand for her trouble. Afterglow had been right on time, and Proud Immortal Demon Way just behind them. Moon Dew’s vocalist had texted Shang Qinghua to let them know their train was running late, but they still had plenty of time. Shang Qinghua wasn’t worried about it. What did have her slightly worried was the gleam in Luo Binghe’s eye as she watched Afterglow run through the setlist with the sound booth. Shang Qinghua didn’t know if it was because they were the headliners or if Luo Binghe really did find their lead some kind of fierce fashion competition, but whatever it was, she hoped desperately that Luo Binghe didn’t get the itch to throw another guitar.

Yuka interrupted her nervous train of thought with a tap on the shoulder. Notably not a smack or a slap. When Shang Qinghua turned and saw the look of slight concern on Yuka’s face, she felt her stomach drop.

“Shit, who died?”

“No one,” Yuka said, narrowing her eyes. “Put that coffee down, you’re going to vibrate right off the visible light spectrum.”

“ _Or_ ,” Shang Qinghua suggested, “I don’t put the coffee down, and I don’t embarrass you by passing out behind the bar. What’s with the face, what’s wrong?”

“You already embarrass me enough for the both of us. Stage manager for tonight got some kind of food poisoning and had to bail. I…” Yuka sighed deeply and thrust a headset at her. “I need your help running the show.”

“But I’m on drink bar duty,” Shang Qinghua whined, already having identified the scent of _too much responsibility_. This whole job was too much responsibility! Why did she need to take any more on! But she quailed at Yuka’s look. “I’m just saying, I can’t be in two places at the same time! I definitely can’t be running the stage and serving drinks to—all of our customers!”

‘All of our customers’ included Shen Yuan. It wasn’t so much that Shang Qinghua didn’t think anyone else could serve drinks; her staff were all competent at far more complex tasks. But could any of her staff kiss ass on the same level as her? Not even close! When it came to sucking up, Shang Qinghua was a first-class brown noser, and the one thing she didn’t trust her staff to handle was ensuring Shen Yuan didn’t leave before the end of the show.

“That’s why _I’m_ taking over stage management. I need you to run the floor for me.”

“But I don’t—”

“You can do it for one night,” Yuka said heartlessly, talking over Shang Qinghua’s babbling excuses. “Take some tickets, stamp some hands, make sure no one’s doing anything obviously illegal during the show. You can get back behind the bar once the doors are closed for the night and send one of the stagehands to watch the doors.”

Shang Qinghua frowned. “Is that really all you do?” At Yuka’s answering glare, she writhed away. “Okay, okay! I’ll do it!”

Shang Qinghua was fairly comfortable delegating tasks to her staff. Most of them had been here longer than her anyway; they didn’t need a whole lot of oversight, and it was one less thing Shang Qinghua had to worry about. Having tasks delegated _to_ her? It wasn’t the indignity of being bossed around by her own employees, it was just…she really did just want to stand back and enjoy the show after all her hard work and let her staff do the rest!

Ah, but whining at Yuka wasn’t going to cure anyone’s food poisoning, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to just let the show flop now. Shang Qinghua made a pathetic little noise in the back of her throat that no one else could hear and jammed the headset on.

But at least one thing went according to plan: to Shang Qinghua’s sickening relief, Shen Yuan actually showed up ahead of the crowds. She was dressed sharply tonight, in an exaggerated A-line dress and an oversized cardigan that somehow seemed to billow around her rather than hang limply off her frame. Still the same hipster glasses and fan, though. She didn’t wave to Shang Qinghua as she approached. She…might have smiled behind the fan? Shang Qinghua decided to imagine that she smiled.

“Hey! You made it.” Shang Qinghua’s enthusiasm was genuine. As much as she found Shen Yuan’s teen heartthrob appeal completely incomprehensible—and as charged as their online relationship was—she’d found herself actually looking forward to seeing Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan did smile then, her fan moving aside. It was a small thing, that smile, putting on some air of elegance, carefully aloof. Shang Qinghua began to ponder whether Shen Yuan was trying to put out a himedere vibe. If so, she needed a few pointers. You had to be a little bit more vocally demanding if you wanted people to treat you like a princess. After a moment’s silence, Shang Qinghua added, “Oh, yeah—2,000 yen for the door charge.”

Shen Yuan’s fan fluttered lightly back and forth. “I thought I was a VIP.”

For drinks only, okay! Stop trying to take advantage! Acting like a spoiled brat alone definitely doesn’t qualify as himedere behavior!

But what Shang Qinghua said instead was, “Ah, haha, yeah, of course,” and ushered her in. At least Yuka was too busy stage managing to slap her.

There weren’t any other customers just yet, so Shang Qinghua trailed Shen Yuan to the bar, sidling behind the counter. Shen Yuan sat at the counter, peered at Shang Qinghua over her fan, and said with an air of resignation, “Sapporo.”

Shang Qinghua failed (did not bother) to suppress a thoroughly obnoxious grin. “Oh? You sure you wouldn’t rather have…an ochawari?”

Dramatically, Shang Qinghua pulled the bottle of shochu out and set it on the countertop. Shen Yuan lowered her fan, one eyebrow arched. 

“I thought you didn’t have shochu here.”

“We do now,” Shang Qinghua said, enormously pleased with herself, and even more so when she saw the corner of Shen Yuan’s mouth quirk up in a smile. Could it be that…she actually kind of liked being here? Maybe?

Or she just liked that the owner had gone to the trouble of purchasing her preferred spirit like the desperate loser that Shang Qinghua was. Either way, it didn’t seem like Shen Yuan was going to leave anytime soon.

Shang Qinghua had never actually mixed an ochawari before—she didn’t do a lot of mixing, generally speaking, mostly just handed out cans of beer and soda—but that was what the internet was for. Surreptitiously peering at a recipe on her phone, Shang Qinghua grabbed some ice and a bottle of green tea and eyeballed the proportions. Might as well make it a little on the strong side just to be safe.

Unlike the beer, which Shen Yuan had seemed to merely tolerate, she looked pleased when she picked up the glass, examined it cursorily, and took a sip. 

She did not spit it out. But her eyes did bulge slightly, and she let out a gasping cough, waving her fan back over her face. Shang Qinghua raised an eyebrow. 

“Everything okay?”

“‘S fine,” Shen Yuan rasped hurriedly. She smothered another cough in her sleeve and flashed Shang Qinghua a smile considerably more strained. Hmmm. Too strong for Peerless Cucumber, huh? Shang Qinghua grinned with no trace of apology. 

“Well, there’s more where that—”

“Shang Qinghua!” Yuka’s voice crackled in her ear. “Stop flirting and get back to the door, there are customers coming in!”

Shang Qinghua excused herself with a wave and hurried for the lobby. “Going, going! You know, you should really be calling me boss!”

“Absolutely not. We’re starting sound check now, so get those people inside and take their money.”

“Love the enthusiasm,” Shang Qinghua said sincerely, and Yuka was back to ignoring her. Ah, she could be so prickly sometimes, but Shang Qinghua really did have some wonderful staff!

However much she might have whined about it, Shang Qinghua managed ticket duty just fine. Either it wasn’t really that hard or she was just running on some good momentum—it was hard to tell between the garbled conversations in her ear and the tired humming in her brain. But things were….going well, actually? Shang Qinghua admitted a steady stream of customers with shining eyes and light sticks in tow. Some of them looked like they’d never been to a concert before, and the energy was palpable. Ah, bless those ones the most. They didn’t have any standards and would probably find the Mile High Club’s aging furniture and sticky floors quirky and exciting. 

They didn’t sell out the whole house, but there were still people trickling in even as Moon Dew wound down their sound check and their peppy little leader announced them to the audience. Shang Qinghua heard the light, delicate tinkling on the keyboard descend into a wail of guitars as she stamped the last hand, swapped places with a staffer who’d been helping with setup, and booked it back to the performance space.

The Mile High Staff really had done a bang-up job with the last-minute lighting design for Moon Dew. They’d never actually played a show on a real stage before, and as a last-minute booking, the live house hadn’t received their setlist until the night before. But Shang Qinghua’s engineers (she’d totally earned the right to call them hers by now!) had quickly assembled a simple but lively lighting design that nicely complemented their perky sound. The band was even wearing matching homemade stage outfits with swaying skirts that made them look like a little bouquet of white lilies on the stage. High school bands who made their own stage outfits were, without a doubt, the cutest!

Moon Dew was, Shang Qinghua realized as their drummer worked them up into their third and final song, the kind of band whose sound just resonated better live. It didn’t help that it sounded like they recorded everything in someone’s garage, but still—they had an energy that recordings didn’t quite capture. Shang Qinghua found herself delivering drinks to the surprisingly catchy beat, searching the crowd for a glimpse of Shen Yuan. Just, you know, to make sure she was still there. And there she was, leaning against the wall and tapping her fan into her palm, watching with interest that probably wasn’t as detached as she was trying to make it seem.

Moon Dew’s final song ended with a four-measure crash of a drum fill to favorable applause. The warmup act didn’t usually get as much attention, the crowd still milling around casually and fetching drinks, but it was a pretty good response for your first show. Shang Qinghua gave herself a little pat on the back as she slipped out from the drink bar to help set up for the next band. Moon Dew was the biggest gamble here, and it had clearly paid off. The crowd was nice and primed for Proud Immortal Demon Way.

“Thank you so much for listening, everyone!” The vocalist clasped her hands together and smiled beatifically at the crowd. “We’re so lucky to have had an audience like you! And thank you to everyone at the Mile High Club for giving us our very first chance to perform!”

That got a few more cheers from the audience. Aw, that was pretty cute.

“And a very special thank you to our inspiration and idol Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! We wouldn’t be on this stage without you! Thank you so much, Airplane-sama!”

Shang Qinghua froze halfway to the stage.

No! Fuck! Not cool! She told you not to mention Airplane, didn’t she?!

Moon Dew’s vocalist didn’t explicitly say that Airplane was the one who recommended this gig, but she might as well have! 

Shang Qinghua’s eyes immediately sought out Shen Yuan. She looked genuinely surprised—maybe baffled was the better word. Then she narrowed her eyes and snapped open her fan. That might have been suspicion, disgust, irritation—wasn’t all three a possibility, too? Fuck!

But Moon Dew was already hopping off stage, and Shang Qinghua didn’t have time to dawdle. She hustled through the crowd to rendezvous with Yuka, who yelled at her and told her to go somewhere else. Shang Qinghua moved without really hearing the chatter in her headset, her mind dominated by the sensation of her increasingly sweaty palms. Most of these people had probably never heard of Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, it wasn’t like she was a celebrity! It was probably barely a blip on anyone’s radar! It would probably be fine! Maybe!

Shang Qinghua kept glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Shen Yuan was still there. Afterglow would probably play if she wandered off, that wasn’t why they were here, but Shang Qinghua could really, really not let Luo Binghe storm offstage in a tearful fury a second time in a row. But Shen Yuan hadn’t moved from her spot, her expression distant and veiled. Well, probably. It was kind of dark in here right now.

Luo Binghe shouldered her guitar and stepped onstage to a small wave of applause, but she didn’t seem to register the audience at all. Her wide eyes were searching the crowd with an almost feral desperation, drawing her initial silence out into something awkward. Finally, her gaze settled on the object of her fascination.

Sha Hualing leaned over to Luo Binghe’s mic and shouted, “Who’s ready for some real music? We’re Proud Immortal Demon Way! Six Balls, hit it!”

Six Balls counted them in with a flurry of cymbals and an enthusiastic stomp on her kick drum, and Luo Binghe seemed to move automatically, her fingers sliding down her guitar. When she sang, she seemed to finally come alive, her voice rich with raw talent. Her usual intensity seemed multiplied by a hundredfold this time, and she sounded…more focused, somehow. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that from start to finish, Luo Binghe’s gaze never shifted away from Shen Yuan.

As the last chord died down, Luo Binghe stood center stage, panting slightly. A roar of applause erupted from the audience, but her eyes remained fixed on Shen Yuan. Shang Qinghua couldn’t make out Shen Yuan’s expression in the writhing crowd, just that she was clapping along with the rest of the audience, if a little less animatedly. A girlish, exhilarated smile stole over Luo Binghe’s face, and she permitted herself to be ushered offstage by her bandmates at the behest of Yuka, who was already preparing for Afterglow’s set.

The rest of the show rushed past Shang Qinghua in a heady blur. Afterglow had been a real catch—Moon Dew and Proud Immortal Demon Way had warmed the crowd up pretty well, and Ran clearly knew how to keep the vibe going. For a high school band, their performance was surprisingly polished, although it never lost that garage band edge that meshed so well (moderately well) with the Mile High Club’s atmosphere. If anything, their performance elevated it. The crowd was screaming right up to the last, winding guitar note, light sticks moving in a frantic wave of light across the room. The band breathlessly thanked the audience before collecting their instruments and exiting the stage, and the house lights came up.

Much like the Hello, Happy World! concert, Shen Yuan was almost immediately beset by wailing fans once she entered the lobby. Afterglow had their own little crowd of devotees too, but they were largely other students, seeming more like supportive peers than fans, and the band didn’t hang around too long. They stayed long enough for Himari to seek out Shang Qinghua and thank her again, sincerely, for the opportunity to perform, and even expressed a bit of hope that they might be able to play here again. Shang Qinghua tried to act cool about it, completely failed, and sent the band off with a small stack of the Mile High Club’s business cards.

Ah, why couldn’t more bands be like Afterglow! Himari was an example for model teen musician behavior, couldn’t Proud Immortal Demon Way take a few pages from her book!

Shang Qinghua thought about calling out to Shen Yuan, but she was clearly occupied, and a buzzing in her ear told her there was still work to be done. Shen Yuan would probably take off once her adoring fans dissipated, and she’d done her part, anyway. Shang Qinghua was so relieved and so tired she felt a little sick. But it was a pretty pleased kind of sick.

The live house staff all seemed to be in high spirits after the show. The crackling energy of the performance still hung in the air, as though echoes of the sound had caught in the air like water droplets, suspended in a sonic haze. Shang Qinghua had never seen her employees haul equipment with such gusto before, and their backtalk seemed almost halfhearted. Shang Qinghua was overseeing the final equipment strike when she sensed someone’s presence behind her, and she immediately wiggled to the side to avoid a slap.

But Yuka, who had only gone to touch her shoulder for attention, just rolled her eyes. “Hey, if you’re done standing around watching us work, do me a favor and grab that bottle of shochu.”

“I’m helping, I’m—what?”

“Get some beers, too. We are having an afterparty,” she enunciated at Shang Qinghua’s continued blank stare. “Because tonight’s show actually went _well_ , and everyone’s hype, and you reward your staff’s hard work with free booze— _what_ is that look for?”

“Sorry, I’ve just never seen you smile before, and it’s…kind of terrifying? Okay, I’m getting beer, I’m getting beer!”

Shang Qinghua fled Yuka’s hurricane of slaps, but she was grinning to herself. Yes! Success! This was an undeniable success! No one could look at the Mile High Club and claim they were nothing more than a dank little hole in the ground after tonight!

She piled the still mostly-full bottle of shochu along with an assortment of beers and teas on the counter of the drink bar, and she was searching the freezer for a bottle of vodka she could’ve sworn she saw shoved in there last week when a sharp rapping on the wall caught her attention. Shang Qinghua looked up to see Shen Yuan in the doorway. She blinked in surprise. She…really wasn’t expecting Shen Yuan to come back?

“Oh, uh, hey.”

Extremely smooth. In her defense, the exhaustion she’d been staving off all day was starting to catch up to her. But Shen Yuan only smiled slightly—well, it was more of a little smirk—and puffed out a soft laugh, coming away from the doors. It seemed that the lively atmosphere had reached even her; Shang Qinghua could see the pink flush on her cheeks, the loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail to cluster around her face. It had a peculiar effect on her, like a piece of porcelain come to life, no longer so pale and distant. Shang Qinghua found herself thinking that it suited Shen Yuan better.

“Hey,” Shen Yuan parroted back, eyebrows raised. “You know, I had my doubts, but I have to admit—you actually pulled this off.”

Shang Qinghua, who was plagued by doubt about her ability to keep the lights on in the live house on a day to day business, just grinned. “Wild, right? Would you believe I didn’t secure the opener until yesterday afternoon?”

“I have absolutely no trouble believing that.” Shen Yuan crossed her arms, looking amused. Man, she really was a lot easier (more tolerable) to talk to when she wasn’t hiding behind that fan. Shen Yuan could emote like a real person sometimes, who knew. “They were rough around the edges—but a very good find. Their taste is _highly_ questionable, but you can’t deny their sound has promise. You ought to keep tabs on them. Invite them back to play. Bands that make it big remember where they started out. It could pay off in the long run.”

Shit, this might have been the most words Shen Yuan had said to her at once. In person, anyway. Shang Qinghua rubbed her palms on her trousers with a wilting laugh. Haha, right, the long run. With any luck, by the time Moon Dew became a hit band, the Mile High Club would already be well out of debt and thus Shang Qinghua’s hands. 

“Aha, yeah, well—never hurts to have a few bands on speed dial, you’re right. They seemed to really enjoy playing, too.”

“Just where did you find them, anyway?”

“Oh, they reached out to us. We were looking pretty loudly.” A dubious question hovered on her tongue. Shang Qinghua was not the sort of person with boundless self control. “So, just curious, why do you think they have bad—”

Shang Qinghua suddenly heard—no, _felt_ someone standing very close. Luo Binghe somehow never made a sound in those combat boots. Shang Qinghua hated it. No one that tall should be allowed to be that sneaky!

Proud Immortal Demon Way’s vocalist was standing in the doorway, staring at Shen Yuan with a scarlet-eyed intensity that made Shang Qinghua instinctively want to fold in on herself. But it wasn’t the cold stare she usually directed at Shang Qinghua; her eyes were wide, round, entreating. This was…somehow scarier?

“Shen Yuan-sama,” Luo Binghe said, her voice oddly breathless, almost hushed. Shen Yuan turned to her with an inquisitive look. Shang Qinghua looked furtively for the other members of the band, but they were nowhere to be seen. Where was Mobei Jun or Meiyin when she needed them? The last thing she needed right now was for Luo Binghe to scare Shen Yuan off right when they were finally having a real conversation!

Luo Binghe took that as an invitation to step forward, but it was a tiny baby step. She had her hands clasped tightly together in front of her, and for the first time in Shang Qinghua’s acquaintance, she looked… _shy_.

“I just wanted to thank you for coming to our show,” Luo Binghe said, and then flushed, her cheeks pink. Shang Qinghua was staring open-mouthed. Since when was Luo Binghe some kind of innocent shoujo protagonist? Who authorized this genre change?! “It really meant a lot to us. To…to me.”

Shen Yuan favored her with an approving smile, the kind Shang Qinghua had seen her use on her fans. “You played well,” she said. “And you seem to have improved since last month. Keep doing what you’re doing; clearly, it’s working.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes positively shone, her mouth half-opening in a soundless breath, and she seemed to swell with an ecstatic gratitude. She seemed to flounder for a moment, lost for a response, and then hesitantly extended a hand, slowly opening her closed fingers to reveal a worn guitar pick in her palm. Her eyes darted away as though she were nervous, but immediately, irresistibly flicked back to Shen Yuan.

“I…wanted to give you this. As a thank you.”

Shang Qinghua’s mind was nothing but one long scream. Was she so tired she was hallucinating this? Why did she feel like she was peeping in on some sweet young maiden’s confession of love? Abort, Shen Yuan! Abort!!

Shen Yuan looked at the offering with an air of dignified confusion, flicking her fan back open. “Oh? What’s this?”

Luo Binghe’s face fell. In the blink of an eye, the shy smile dropped away from her face. She suddenly looked on the verge of tears. “You…don’t remember?”

When Shen Yuan didn’t immediately offer an answer, she haltingly continued.

“Shen Yuan-sama…you gave this to me the first time we met. It was at CiRCLE. I was sitting outside nearby after a show, messing around with my guitar. I mean, I wasn’t very good at the time.” The flush in her cheeks deepened to red. “You saw me playing without a pick, and my fingers were all torn up, so you gave this to me and told me to keep practicing. I’ve played with it ever since.”

What! The! Hell! Did Shen Yuan just carry guitar picks with her and hand them out to aspiring musicians who looked like they could use a boost? No way! There was just no way! It totally clashed with her whole image!

“Ah,” Shen Yuan said, as if in illumination. “Of course. You’ll have to forgive me—it’s been a long day, and you’ve certainly grown since then.”

It couldn’t have been that long ago! Luo Binghe had towered over Shang Qinghua for as long as she’d known her! How much could Luo Binghe have grown!!

“But…” Shen Yuan paused. “Are you sure you want to give it to me? It sounds like you treasure it quite a lot.”

“Ah, well…” Luo Binghe looked flustered. “I just wanted to give Shen Yuan-sama something to remember our performance by, is all…”

“Your performance was very memorable,” Shen Yuan said, in what passed for an encouraging tone. “You should keep it. It’s accompanied you on your journey so far, hasn’t it? See how far it takes you.”

Luo Binghe mouthed that last sentence back to herself, then withdrew her hand with an ecstatic smile. “I will. Thank you so much, Shen Yuan-sama. I—”

Fearless Yuka, who had marched over to see what the holdup was with the drinks, took one look at Luo Binghe, pointed firmly to the lobby, and said, “Show’s over. Go home. This is a no-minors zone now.”

Luo Binghe’s expression closed at once. With an icy look at Yuka and Shang Qinghua, she turned and left, casting just one last eager glance at her idol. Shang Qinghua thought she heard Shen Yuan let out a very quiet sigh of relief.

But when she turned to leave, too, Shang Qinghua caught her hurriedly by the shoulder. Shen Yuan gave her a look as though Shang Qinghua had just slapped a muddy palmprint on her oh-so-chic cardigan. Shang Qinghua was undeterred.

“Hey, you want to stick around for the afterparty? I mean, it’s not much of a party, it’s just us, but, you know. Good show and all.” She held up both hands. “Drinks are still free.”

In all honesty, the invitation was about seventy percent motivated by the haunting fear that Luo Binghe would jump in her in a back alley or something. Shen Yuan seemed to consider it, fan fluttering.

“Alright,” she conceded. “I’ll stay for one drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "SIX BALLS, HIT IT" is my new cellar door
> 
> my eternal thanks 2 the haz/ormery for cultivating this little self-indulgent au garden with me
> 
> if you're curious about what moon dew sound like, imagine [the peggies](https://open.spotify.com/artist/3imCOAQnI4fF5dsncQqLBW?si=imbp0gWLTPS5yFJQj5AnCQ) but with more keyboard


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shang Qinghua finds out what Shen Yuan is like after a couple of drinks and has a very weird night. Luo Binghe reads Shen Yuan's review of their performance and decides Proud Immortal Demon Way has some work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is maybe my favorite chapter thus far? i love the proud immortal demon way kids. six balls is VERY important to me, personally

“I’m just _saying_ ,” Shen Yuan said heatedly, slapping a hand down on the table, “that Afterglow’s sound has definitely changed since their debut! You could hear it in their set tonight! Seriously, sit down with a pair of headphones, listen to ‘That Is How I Roll’ and ‘COMIC PANIC!!!’ back to back, and tell me I’m wrong. I’ll wait.”

Shang Qinghua, who had spent the better part of the last week mainlining Afterglow’s music, let out a snort. “Okay, you’re wrong. ‘COMIC PANIC!!!’ is a natural evolution of their sound. And if you’re going to toss their first single around, you can’t ignore the B-sides! ‘True color’ has all those warm vibes, right from the start. You can totally feel their growth as a band in ‘COMIC PANIC!!!’, it’s like—in their first single, it’s like the band has just one voice, but now, it feels like every song is _all_ of them, you know?”

“Because the entire band sings in that track,” Shen Yuan retorted, haughtily adjusting her cardigan.

“And what’s wrong with that? It’s cute! It’s fun!”

“‘Cute’ and ‘fun’ aren’t part of the Afterglow image! It’s off-brand, that’s all I’m saying!”

“They’re in high school! Why do they have to have a _brand?_ Seriously, you are so critical!”

“I’m a music critic,” Shen Yuan said through her teeth. “It is _literally_ my job.”

It turned out that after a few drinks, Shen Yuan shed her demure and elegant shell, and out crawled the horrible little internet gremlin who loved to smear contempt all over the comments section of Airplane’s every release. It wasn’t like this was a shocker, Shang Qinghua read her blog on the regular, but there was something uniquely gratifying about seeing it come out in person. She knew it! There was no way Shen Yuan could actually be that cool.

Sure, yes, Shang Qinghua would admit that Shen Yuan did know how to _dress_ cool, she really could pull an outfit together, and she clearly put way more time into the whole hair-and-makeup routine than Shang Qinghua—but Shen Yuan had the soul of a terminally Online die-mad-about-it nerd, and no glow up could change that. Shang Qinghua found herself grinning stupidly as Shen Yuan took an angry sip of her beer. An angry sip. Not an angry gulp, not an angry chug, just a little angry sip. It was _hilarious_. It was almost cute.

Shen Yuan composed herself with a huff, swatting a stray piece of hair from her face. “The only exception I’ll accept is ‘Y.O.L.O!!!’, but it doesn’t even count, because it’s technically a Pastel*Palettes song. The agency let them retain performance rights, but it’s basically like getting permission to play a cover of your own song.”

Shang Qinghua blinked, lowering her beer. “Hey, I thought that one sounded familiar. Afterglow wrote a song for an idol group? How did _that_ happen?”

Teen idols weren’t really Shang Qinghua’s obsession these days (she was well out of college now, it just felt too creepy!), but Pastel*Palettes had caught her interest after their debacle of a debut. They had a rough start, but an idol band that actually played their instruments? It was a neat concept, and they had a lot of personality, and they had some pretty good hits! High school bands really were where it was at these days. 

“I covered it on my blog,” Shen Yuan said smugly, with the undercurrent of _didn’t you say you’re a reader?_ Okay, but how could Shang Qinghua be expected to remember stuff like this, aside from the fact that it was actually really relevant to her job? “The idol agency approached Afterglow because they were interested in their sound. But honestly, they should never have sold that song. Something like ‘COMIC PANIC!!!’ would have been a much better fit for Pastel*Palettes anyway! Ridiculous that they tossed away such a hit.”

Shang Qinghua pointed across the table at her. “That just proves my point! ‘Y.O.L.O!!!’ is a pretty recent release, which means it’s Afterglow’s _current_ sound the agency wanted, which means they’ve still got it!”

“But it’s _different_ ,” Shen Yuan said, and pressed two fingers to her forehead. “Ugh, never mind. You don’t get it.”

“Uh huh,” Shang Qinghua said, and then, because she couldn’t help herself: “Man, if this is the way you talk about music you like, I can’t even imagine what a _bad_ review from you sounds like.”

“Don’t you read my blog?” Shen Yuan said, and she could not have sounded any more obnoxious if she tried. “Besides, I offer _constructive_ criticism. You can’t improve without honest feedback.”

Shang Qinghua would have liked to say that it was a totally joyless reply, in full accordance with the distant and sophisticated image she pasted over what Shang Qinghua thought of as her true personality. But the truth was that in person, Shen Yuan was just as passionate about her critiques as her blog posts made her sound.

“So you think you’re like, genuinely helping people grow artistically?”

It was difficult to say with a straight face. Shen Yuan gave her a dumbfounded look.

“Of course. And I _am_. People have thanked me for what I’ve written about them.”

Right, right. It was true that Shen Yuan was (for some reason) pretty popular these days, and people absolutely slavered for her opinion. Shang Qinghua saved herself from having to think of a sincere response to that by tagging Yuka’s elbow as she passed by.

“Hey, hey, hand me two of those? We’re both dry over here.” Shang Qinghua shook her empty bottle. Yuka glared.

“Why did you invite her,” she hissed into Shang Qinghua’s ear. Instinctively, Shang Qinghua flinched away, but there was no accompanying smack. She gave Yuka a pout.

“It was a good show! You said we should celebrate! We really owe her, you know?”

“You owe your _staff_ ,” Yuka said icily, “not the hipster influencer you keep begging to hang out with you. You didn’t need Shen Yuan for Afterglow or Moon Dew.”

“No, but we needed her for Proud Immortal Demon Way and a _lot_ of customers. You saw the reception in the lobby. Are you really trying to tell me we _don’t_ need every ounce of that we can get? If she gets invited to the afterparty, then our odds of her posting about us go way up! And that will definitely help us book more bands, so please stop looking at me like that, it’s freaking me out, okay!”

Yuka, for once, didn’t have a good response, mostly because she didn’t want to concede the point. She all but dropped a bottle of beer on the table and marched off. Shang Qinghua twisted in her chair.

“But I asked for two!”

“Share it!”

Shang Qinghua turned back around with a sigh, but Shen Yuan was already out of her seat and slinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“I’m heading home,” she said brusquely, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. She was already making a move for the door. Shang Qinghua jumped to her feet.

“What, already?” She hadn’t even worked up to asking about a blog post yet. She was still warming Shen Yuan up, okay? You couldn’t rush a good schmooze!

“It’s already eleven-thirty,” Shen Yuan said, shaking back the loose sleeve of her sweater to display her oh-so-chic watch, as though there wasn’t a clock on the wall behind her. “My train stops running at midnight, and I’d rather not risk missing it. Thank you for inviting me to your little afterparty.”

It would have sounded like a backhanded thanks if not for the hint of a smile around her eyes. It was just enough. But she did sound pretty tired despite how animatedly she’d been contesting Shang Qinghua’s music opinions not ten minutes ago.

“Yeah, well,” Shang Qinghua said, badly stalling, “at least let me walk you to the door, okay? You never know who’s hanging around outside at this time of night.”

Like, for instance, Luo Binghe. And maybe she could speed up the schmooze just a little bit. Shen Yuan looked like she was about to brush off the offer, but then seemed to think the better of it and agreed with a little hum.

In the full light of the lobby, Shen Yuan looked distinctly tired. The lively flush from earlier was gone, and she looked…kind of like shit, actually. Shang Qinghua was certain that she herself also looked distinctly tired and probably a lot _more_ like shit, but Shen Yuan hadn’t been running a show all day. The life of a music blogger was surely not _that_ taxing. Shen Yuan pushed up her glasses with a finger and, as if noticing Shang Qinghua’s gaze, spread her fan over her face again.

“Thank you for coming,” Shang Qinghua said after a beat of silence. “Like, really, I cannot overemphasize how grateful I am. I haven’t slept in a few days, so I really can’t tell if I sound grateful, my own voice just kind of sounds like a long, drawn-out buzzing to me? But I’m pretty sure that if you hadn’t come tonight I would’ve had all of my limbs torn off by angry teenage girls. By one angry teenage girl, anyway. I’d get down on my knees and everything, but at this point I don’t think I’d be able to get back up.”

“Please don’t. It’s embarrassing.”

“Not for me,” Shang Qinghua said earnestly. Shen Yuan rolled her eyes.

“That’s what’s so embarrassing about it.” She paused, considering, and swept a glance around the lobby. Post-show and pre-cleanup, the floor was still littered with trampled flyers, torn tickets, and abandoned light sticks. “Hmm. This place has always been kind of a shithole.”

“I know,” Shang Qinghua agreed immediately. Shen Yuan’s eyes slanted her way with the strong suggestion of—well, _some_ kind of face.

“I’m not finished. This place has always been kind of a shithole, _but_ —” She gestured with her fan. “Since the management changed, I’m seeing some improvement. Last time I was here, it was…well, the lineup wasn’t a problem. Hello, Happy World! always draws a crowd, for better or worse. But it still felt like the same Mile High Club—all grunge, no substance, grabbing low-hanging musical fruit since the start. No one’s ever heard of any local band hitting it big and throwing a shoutout back to _this_ place.”

Shang Qinghua failed to suppress a wince. Ouch! This is exactly what she was talking about, okay!

“This show, however,” Shen Yuan continued, her voice growing thoughtful, “was different. For the first time, it felt like you were really trying to amplify the music that matters to this scene, the music you and your people care about. Not just filling a stage for the sake of making money. The energy in that crowd tonight was rich. It was _real_. Tonight was the first night the Mile High Club started to feel like someplace new.”

Shang Qinghua just barely stopped herself from saying that actually, all she’d been focused on lately was filling the fucking stage for the sake of keeping the whole business from going under, but… She thought back to her conversation with Marina at CiRCLE again. Yes, it was true that she was primarily motivated by the terror of looming debt, but when Marina had asked her about how she felt about the music here, she’d answered without hesitation.

And actually, it felt kind of cool to hear Shen Yuan acknowledge that.

That didn’t mean she was falling prey to Shen Yuan’s nonexistent heartthrob vibe! Shang Qinghua was a sucker in many, many ways, but definitely not that one! It was just a nice change of pace, okay!

“So…that means you’ll post about tonight’s show, right?”

The corners of Shen Yuan’s mouth turned up in a faint smirk. “I said I’d think about it, didn’t I?”

The mixed devastation and exasperation on Shang Qinghua must have been palpable, because Shen Yuan actually laughed.

“Check my blog tomorrow. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” They came to the front doors, and Shen Yuan paused, one hand on the handle. She took a moment, as though she had to work to pull the words together. “I never thought I’d say this, but…mm. You actually have good taste in music, Shang Qinghua. I’m looking forward to seeing where you take this place.”

There were no loitering or lurking teens outside. Shen Yuan left, the doors swinging quietly shut behind her. Shang Qinghua stood there, rubbing her jaw absently, and the second Shen Yuan was out of sight, something lit up like a fifteen-watt bulb in her head. 

Yes! Yes! Mission success! Shen Yuan came to the show, it was a total success, and now she was going to blog about it! Everything really was coming up Airplane!!

“Who the fuck is Airplane?” came Yuka’s voice from behind her, and Shang Qinghua realized some of her internal monologue had escaped out her mouth. But Yuka didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Princess Cucumber finally leave?”

“It’s Peerless Cucumber,” Shang Qinghua said automatically. Yuka snorted. 

“I know. I’m not saying that out loud. Did you get your blog post or whatever?”

“Tomorrow.” A wired, extremely tired grin split across Shang Qinghua’s face. “She said there’d be something up tomorrow.”

“So happy for you.” Yuka took a sip from her beer. “Good job today.”

Shang Qinghua blinked. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. You didn’t suck today. And—don’t take this the wrong way, I just think you’re giving that blogger way too much credit—a lot of it is thanks to you. So.”

Shang Qinghua clutched a hand to her chest. Was this it? Was this finally the moment when her prickly floor manager and de facto second in command would reveal her true tsundere nature in an honest heart to heart?

“What is that look for? The work’s not done.” Yuka jabbed two fingers into Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. Shang Qinghua let out a pitiful whimper. “Yes, we pulled together a good lineup. Now we have to do that again for next Saturday. And the Saturday after that. A single show isn’t going to save this place.”

Shang Qinghua let out a deflated whine. Ah, precious Yuka, so dedicated, but so cold! “Can’t you let me bask in this one just a little bit before you hit me with the reality check?”

“No. Go home and sleep, you look like shit. And don’t come back until Monday.”

“You do care!”

“I care that there’s someone alive to sign my paychecks,” Yuka said, shoving her towards the door. “And to pay the rent on this place next week. Go. _Home_.”

* * *

The train ride home kept Shang Qinghua awake just enough longer that by the time she kicked in the door of her cramped apartment, she was on her second wind. Or fourth? The coffee/beer combo was doing a number on her, as was the overstimulation of having spent the last fourteen hours running around and talking to people, moving heavy things, and being blasted with loud music. She shouldn’t have gotten too drunk off just a couple of beers, but Shang Qinghua was laughing inanely to herself as she kicked off her shoes and dropped her bag on the floor.

Her apartment in the sweaty Tokyo summer felt like walking into somebody’s open mouth, so she stripped off everything but her underwear, threw them onto the now toweringly high dirty laundry pile (who has time to do laundry these days!), and flung herself down onto her futon to sleep. Yes, she should sleep. But every time she tried to lie still, she was suddenly seized with wheezing laughter over absolutely fucking nothing. Underneath the constant buzzing in her brain, she felt vaguely sick. Was this what sheer, unadulterated relief felt like? If so, it was awful, and she wanted more.

She thought, at least, that if she couldn’t sleep, she could write music. She’d dropped her last buffer track yesterday and hadn’t had any time to sit down and compose for days, so really, this was a great opportunity! But after an hour of playing the same six-note melody in varying but ultimately unsatisfying arrangements, she realized she was barely even hearing what she was playing. That was fine too! That thought repeated itself in her head as she paced between her keyboard, her laptop, the fridge, and the bathroom in an aimless, milling cycle for—well, she lost track of time, really, but the next time she looked at her phone it was two in the morning.

She pulled up Peerless Cucumber’s blog on her phone, as if it were somehow reasonable to expect an update in the middle of the night. But that was fine too! If she couldn’t sleep, she’d just stay up until Shen Yuan posted her new review.

The coffee/beer combo finally came back to haunt her around two thirty, and she spent a torturous forty-five minutes on the toilet, face buried in her hands.

Three-thirty saw her watching Vine compilations on her futon in absolute fucking tears. She laughed so hard she accidentally flung her phone into the wall, then doubled over wheezing.

At four, she decided it was time for food. She really hadn’t eaten very much in the last twenty-four hours, and suddenly she was fucking starving. She’d been taking less of a salary to bolster the live house’s finances, so she was mostly down to ramen packs, but that was fine. She had a cold beer or two in the fridge, that’d be perfect with some noodles. Totally worth boiling a pot of water in her un-air-conditioned apartment. While she waited for it to heat up, Shang Qinghua found herself compulsively tidying the tiny kitchen surface. At the very least, she was moving shit around.

“Kyabetsu! Kyabetsu! Kyabe— _fuck!_ ”

Shang Qinghua jostled the pot of water and immediately doubled over as a few drops of scalding hot water splashed onto one nipple. She clapped a hand over her tit with a hiss and hopped away from the stove, jamming her knee against a cabinet in the process. This was exactly why you didn’t cook on the stove without a shirt on! Rookie mistake!!

By the time Shang Qinghua wrestled a new shirt on, the pot was boiling over. She unspooled half a roll of paper towels cleaning up the spill on the floor, and, undaunted, dropped the noodles in what water was left. T-shirt splash guard: success! She poked the noodles with a spoon, humming a catchy little melody that had gotten caught in her brain. Oh, man, as soon as she was doing making ramen, she was totally going to sit down and write some—

Shang Qinghua came to on a sharp inhale, her entire body twitching on the futon. Her head was groggy, pressed under the weight of a coffee/beer/late night combo hangover. One of her hands felt wet. She lifted her heavy head off the futon to see her left hand submerged in a half-eaten bowl of noodles.

Hmm.

She shook her hand out, wiped it on her shirt, and slowly sat up. Alright, well, she hadn’t started a fire in her apartment, so that was fine. Apparently she’d just blacked out while eating noodles and scrawling illegible broth-stained sheet music to which she desperately hoped there was a recording somewhere. As she wiped her hair from her sweaty face, she saw that her five best girls from her collection of anime figures were arranged in a semicircle around the pillow end of her futon.

She definitely didn’t remember doing that. Maybe she’d wanted company?

Still feeling sluggish, Shang Qinghua washed her hands, located her phone (left on top of the stove, yikes), and poured herself a glass of water to fend off the headache while she checked her messages. She’d managed to pass out until well into the afternoon, and there was a stack of notifications waiting for her. Marina had sent her a message asking how the show had gone, apologizing for not making it (work, of course), Moon Dew had sent messages to both the Mile High Club and Airplane, and one of her staff had accidentally texted her a decidedly racy selfie and immediately followed it up with _nvm_. And then there were all the unread comments on the track she’d dropped Friday, like a little post-show treat. 

She dropped down on her futon and scrolled through the comments, munching on a piece of bread. There was no better hangover cure than reading people saying cool stuff about you on the internet.

Wait. Shit. Peerless Cucumber’s blog! She’d tried to stay awake until the new post had gone up and instead blacked herself out into oblivion. In the half second it took for her to type the url on her phone’s browser, she was seized with the sudden fear that Shen Yuan had written something nasty, that all that talk about how much the Mile High Club had changed was actually just the setup to a very mean joke.

But no, as soon as she saw the title of the post (posted at noon, so maybe it was for the best that she passed out after all): “Shinjuku’s Mile High Club Reaches New Heights!”

Shang Qinghua wrinkled her nose. She would have workshopped that title a little bit, but sure.

> As anyone who’s ever set foot on those sticky floors would know, the Mile High Club has always been kind of a shithole.

Hold up, this was exactly how Shen Yuan started that topic last night! Was she secretly recording their conversation or something?!

> It’s never quite been able to compete on the same level as places like CiRCLE or Galaxy, and the reason is clear: with its subpar PA system, out-of-date lighting rigs, and a long history of booking any band desperate enough to pay their own ticket quota, who’d be surprised that their gigs mostly played to empty rooms?

Peerless Cucumber, no matter what the headline says, this doesn’t sound like a good review at all!!

Stuffing the rest of the bread in her mouth, Shang Qinghua kept scrolling.

> But when murmurs of new management began to surface in the local music industry, this critic knew she had to see for herself just how it might have changed. And readers, as of last night’s show featuring the rising stars of Afterglow, I can safely say that the horizon is looking a little brighter.

Okay! Thank you! That was more like it!

> In truth, last night’s show was not the first one I’d gone to since the change in ownership. A couple of weeks ago when they hosted Hello, Happy World! for a miniature circus of a concert, even with the musical change-up, the atmosphere was more or less the same: dank, dim, and derelict. Not the sort of atmosphere that fosters the budding sound of aspiring musicians, and certainly not the kind of place any well-established band would consider worth their time.
> 
> But as soon as the Mile High Club hosted Afterglow on their stage, that all began to change.

The post went on to detail Peerless Cucumber’s impressions of all three bands that performed that night. Shang Qinghua was privately relieved to see that Shen Yuan hadn’t seen fit to bring up Moon Dew’s “abysmal taste”; actually, aside from honestly noting the awkward newness of their sound, it was…not a terrible review. It also wasn’t a very long one. She had much more to say on the topic of Afterglow’s performance, which was generally favorable, although she insisted on inserting the same dumb opinions about their musical growth that she’d expressed last night. But it was her brief, almost passing mention of Proud Immortal Demon Way sandwiched between them that Shang Qinghua found herself looking for.

> Proud Immortal Demon Way, a band whose origins lay in the Mile High Club’s own practice studios, might as well be considered their in-house band—-perhaps because it’s the only venue that will lend them a stage. Their performance was rich, raw, and electrifying, but at heart, still quite unrefined. One wonders if the Mile High Club has been holding them back; this five-piece girls band is clearly not lacking for talent, but they have a long way to go before they can be considered worthy of a headlining act.

Shang Qinghua cringed. Well, that wasn’t… _bad_ , but it wasn’t great, either. Other than the little sting of resentment at the suggestion that the live house is somehow responsible for their lack of progress—Shang Qinghua has always encouraged them, okay!—she felt a nagging worry about how Luo Binghe might receive that. There was no way Luo Binghe hadn’t read this already, and she seemed to really…look up to Shen Yuan?

Ah, no, there really was no way around it: Luo Binghe was obviously, definitely obsessed with Shen Yuan. 

The rest of the post concluded much the same way as their conversation had last night, down to the last “the new management appears to have good taste, I’m looking forward to seeing where they take the place”. It didn’t count as plagiarism if it was her own words, but Shang Qinghua had to wonder how much of their conversations last night had been actual conversations between two people, and not Shen Yuan just drafting a blog post out loud.

Still, all in all, it was a good review, if a little backhanded! The barbs about the Mile High Club’s history washed right off of Shang Qinghua. Shencouldn’t disagree; in the several months before her “promotion” she’d never witnessed a show she would have actually considered _good_. It’d just been nice to be close to the local music scene, however shitty the place. And as long as Shen Yuan was encouraging people to come to the new and (well, maybe) improved Mile High Club, she could shittalk its past all she wanted!

It left Shang Qinghua in a good mood, and maybe the blackout sleep was partly responsible, but now that she’d woken up a little and drank some water, she was feeling pretty rejuvenated. Inspired, even. She was off for the rest of the day, with no demands on her time for once— _now_ she could really make some music.

And she really needed to. Airplane could not afford to miss another release date.

It was as though the last few weeks hadn’t been so thoroughly soul-sucking: just like before, the music came together easily, like it was pulling her fingers along the keys instead of the other way around. Tapping a pencil rhythmically against her keyboard, she pored over the sheet music she’d slapped together overnight. Most of it was incomprehensible garbage, but one of the things that made Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky so prolific was that she had the tireless ability to sift through garbage to find the few golden threads she could stitch together to make something truly resonant. It didn’t matter how much shitty music she wrote; there was always something good in there she could use, and when there wasn’t, there was always something good enough.

By the time she stopped flitting between her laptop and synths like a sweaty little techno butterfly, it was nearly midnight, and she’d amassed a handful of half-assembled tracks she could polish up into the weekly two-minute releases her listeners had come to expect. There was still plenty of work to do, but it was a different kind of work, not quite as exhausting as starting from the ground up. Best to let her brain marinate in it a bit before picking it back up or she’d get all tunnel vision-y about it.

But she still felt restless and ready to go. Part of it was, probably, the fact that she’d spent a conservative ten hours in a dead sleep, but the exhilaration from the success of the live show—and Peerless Cucumber’s net positive review—hadn’t worn off since last night. After a little thoughtful wiggling in her chair, she sought out the notes she’d made the last time she’d had a spurt of creative energy. If she could keep up with Airplane’s regular release schedule—if things at the live house got just a little bit easier—then…she could actually have time to get back to her concept album.

She’d gone so long without working on anything truly creative. Sure, she liked working on her steady stream of remixes, dance tracks, and sick techno covers of anime themes, but it just wasn’t as fulfilling. The elaborate fantasy scape set to painstakingly crafted music and videos was where her heart was really at. Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had fallen into a lull lately, if not a rut; it was time to put herself back on the uphill climb towards success instead of just treading water.

And…there was another little glimmer of hope. Shen Yuan said Shang Qinghua had good taste in music, which meant that she couldn’t have hated Airplane’s music _that_ much. In fact, in the past—before she’d become an _influencer_ —her reviews had been mixed more often than not. Peerless Cucumber was fond of charting out her perceived decline of Airplane’s music, but that just acknowledged that there was something she liked about it!

And she did go on and on about that concept album on her blog. So maybe Airplane would finally release it and give Peerless Cucumber something _real_ to review for the first time in a while. If she could get Shen Yuan to admit that she liked Airplane’s music, then Shang Qinghua could come clean, and plan her own debut without worry. It was a perfect plan! How could it possibly go wrong!

* * *

“We’ll have a Christian-style wedding,” Luo Binghe announced. She was staring into the middle distance with great intent, although the effect was slightly ruined by the angle of the massage chair, and the fact that her feet were both currently submerged in a bubbling foot bath. “Shen Yuan-sama would look so beautiful in one of those white dresses…”

Mobei Jun made a noncommittal noise, but didn’t look up from the music magazine she was reading. One of Meiyin’s little sisters was diligently painting her toes in a rich matte azure, listening to Luo Binghe go on with furtive interest. Meiyin’s family’s beauty parlor was where the band usually hung out outside of practice, as for the most part they went to different schools, and the sprawling spa complex also conveniently provided them with a space to practice on their own. Their past attempts at holding post-band meetings at any of Sha Hualing’s family’s restaurants had been varying shades of disastrous. The calming atmosphere of the beauty parlor was much better suited as a cooldown to their usually heated rehearsals. And Meiyin’s horde of sisters was always eager to provide an audience to mini-concerts.

“I found a wedding dress catalogue online,” Luo Binghe went on. Her eyes were starting to look a little glazed. “They’re all so expensive, but I’ll save up, of course. It’ll be so worth it. I think she’d look best in an A-line dress. With one of those layered tulle skirts…she’d look like an elegant fairy crossing over from a mystical realm…”

She sighed. Sha Hualing exchanged a raised-eyebrow glance with Meiyin, who was currently painting her nails in a shimmery hot pink. Playing the guitar would ruin the manicure immediately, but Sha Hualing didn’t care. Meiyin never minded redoing her nails.

“What if she doesn’t like those big floofy dresses?” Six Balls said around a mouthful of chips. Luo Binghe sat up straight, her lips parting in deep thought.

“I…didn’t think about that. I just thought…no, it’s not about what I want. If Shen Yuan-sama isn’t happy with it, then I don’t want it. Of course a wedding kimono would better suit her elegance! And we could exchange our vows over sake in a private, intimate ceremony…”

“Don’t you think you should wait until you’ve proposed to make these plans?” Sha Hualing couldn’t help herself, suppressing a snicker but not a smirk. Meiyin gave her an exasperated look as she finished up Sha Hualing’s nails, mouthing _don’t encourage her_. Sha Hualing ignored her. “So when _are_ you planning to propose? Oooh, you were thinking of doing it onstage, weren’t you?”

Luo Binghe’s eyes narrowed, her mouth thinning, but her cheeks flushed pink. Before she could reply, her phone buzzed in her lap. She snatched it up and all but pressed it to her face.

“Don’t wiggle around so much,” Meiyin said to Six Balls, sitting in front of her and grasping her by the ankle. “You’re going to get polish everywhere. You might as well just dip your toes in it.”

“Aaah, but it tickles! Ahaha! I can’t help it, my feet are acting all on their own!”

As if to demonstrate her demonic foot possession, Six Balls kicked her feet and sent a splash of water flying. Meiyin dabbed her face with a towel and firmly pulled Six Balls’s feet from the bath. “If you get your chips in my foot bath again, you lose pedicure privileges.”

Sha Hualing, who was scrolling on her phone as lightly as possible so as not to disturb her nails, looked up at a strangled noise from Luo Binghe. “What, did the dress you were saving up go out of stock?”

She was staring at her phone in abject dismay, looking on the brink of tears. “Shen Yuan-sama…Shen Yuan-sama doesn’t think we’re good enough.”

“What?” Sha Hualing scoffed. “Let me see. It can’t be that bad.” She pulled up Peerless Cucumber’s blog on her own phone with a few dainty taps, mindful of her drying nails, scrolled a bit, and squinted. After a minute she let out a scoff. “One measly paragraph? That’s all she has to say about us? We _killed_ it!”

“She was so nice to me when we talked.” Luo Binghe stared down miserably at her phone. “She said…she called our performance memorable.” 

But then she clenched her jaw in a grimace, and with a flash of frustration, she flung her phone down into the foot bath. Mobei Jun sighed, put her magazine to the side, and reached over to fish Luo Binghe’s phone out of the water.

“Mm…it’s not really that bad, though, is it?” Meiyin had looked up the review on her own phone. Six Balls was leaning forward out of her massage chair to peer at it. Meiyin gently pushed her back. “Brief, yes. I suppose it makes sense she wrote more about Afterglow. They were the main event, after all.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re friends with their bassist,” Sha Hualing said accusingly. “I mean, yeah, they _were_ pretty cool, but so were we! It’s not like she’s got a word limit, she could’ve written more!”

Meiyin tilted her head in concession. “Even so, it’s not a bad review, especially from an influencer. We’re still a relatively new band. I don’t think anything she said is necessarily untrue. We just need more practice, and the Mile High Club is still letting us play, so we’ll keep getting exposure—”

With an agonized howl, Luo Binghe leapt from the foot bath, somehow managing not to slip and break her neck into the process. She landed with a wet thud and immediately booked it for the back door without even bothering to dry her feet. Meiyin sighed.

“Hey!” Sha Hualing shouted. “Where are you going? She didn’t even do your cuticles yet!”

“Practice,” Luo Binghe said doggedly. “We have to practice! There’s no way Shen Yuan-sama will deem us worthy if we don’t improve!”

“I didn’t mean right _now_ ,” Meiyin said with exasperation. Mobei Jun grunted in dissatisfaction and politely pulled her feet away so she could step carefully onto the towel, despite her unfinished nails. After quickly but carefully drying her feet, she went to follow Luo Binghe downstairs, considerately closing the door behind her. Meiyin rubbed her forehead.

“Ah, what are we going to do with her?”

Sha Hualing snorted and went back to scrolling on her phone. “What do you mean, what are we going to do? You think you can talk her out of her future wife? I’d like to see you try.”

Six Balls wiggled one foot at Meiyin. She was piling a wild variety of nail polishes in her lap. “Hey, hey, can you do each of my toes in a different color?”

* * *

Mobei Jun followed the muted scratching of Luo Binghe’s electric guitar to the basement where they often practiced, and found her sitting in the middle of the floor with her guitar in her lap and a notebook in front of her. She was alternating furiously between working out chords and scribbling something down with such force she was at risk of snapping the pen in half. Mobei Jun approached her and peered over her shoulder.

“Writing a new song?”

“We need something new if we’re going to impress Shen Yuan-sama,” Luo Binghe said fervently. “We need to give her proof of our growth as a band. Something she won’t be able to deny. Something she’ll never forget.”

Mobei Jun watched as Luo Binghe became absorbed in her work again. She was somewhat concerned about her friend’s fixation on someone whose opinion, quite honestly, Mobei Jun did not consider to be of very much consequence. But it mattered to Luo Binghe, and it motivated her like hell on her heels, and Shen Yuan had been right: they did still have a long way to go. Mobei Jun crossed the room in a few easy strides, picked up her bass, and came to sit on the sofa behind Luo Binghe.

“Play me what you have so far,” she said. “If we want to show proof of our growth, we’ll have to write it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every single song that shen yuan & shang qinghua argue about is a real song [and they are all bops](https://open.spotify.com/artist/4Gahj9N72kVKOBZbKMu0OI?si=ee2pGkpbQc6yGmBJSKux-Q)
> 
> we never forget a [classic vine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VP5kC9fJAUE). that silly sqh interlude was a lil treat just for me :)
> 
> if u like shitposting [follow me on the twitters](https://twitter.com/misakisyndrome)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with the live house's looming financial crisis, Shang Qinghua has to make some sacrifices...and ask for some help. Tension sparks between the members of Proud Immortal Demon Way as they struggle to make progress on their new song.

As soon as Shang Qinghua came back to work on Monday, she regretted taking a day off. Yes, she had needed the sleep, and yes, it had been an unprecedentedly productive day for Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, but now Shang Qinghua was facing an intimidating pile of emails, and she hadn’t even started booking for this weekend’s show.

This was just a way too stressful way to start off a Monday! Those emails could sit for a little while longer. She needed a morale boost. Time to lean back in her chair and scroll through Airplane’s unread messages. She’d been too caught up in her composition frenzy yesterday to actually sit down and read any of them.

She opened the message from Moon Dew as she sipped coffee. It was already making her stomach complain, but she ignored it. Aw, the message was pretty cute, they just wanted to shower Airplane with gushing thanks for pointing them towards the Mile High Club, and how it had been a life-changing experience and they were only going to work harder on their music from now on…ah, it really warmed her heart! Actually, it was kind of like what she was trying to do with the live house, so in a way, she was helping Moon Dew twice over.

And they’d uploaded a video to their Twitter, too! Good on them, having a friend there to film them. It was a pretty good way to promote yourself, everyone liked a good live music video.

The coffee turned to acid in Shang Qinghua’s stomach. No, no, the last thing she wanted was to come too close to crossing the streams! It was one thing for Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky to give them a secret nudge towards a live gig, totally another for her to publicly boost the name of the live house. That was close! Way too close!

But…she didn’t really have a good reason to say no. They were diehard fans and had been since they’d first stumbled upon Airplane’s music on a Vocaloid fan forum, and they’d be crushed if she turned them down without a reason. Could she let her fans down like that?

Well…it was just one little signal boost, right? And it was about Moon Dew, not the venue. And it probably would mean a whole lot to them, and at the end of the day, Shang Qinghua had a hard time saying no to her fans…

She retweeted the video, her stomach gurgling unhappily. Ugh, all this stress was murder on her gut lately. She knew the coffee wasn’t helping, either, but her stomach was now rejecting food on a fairly nondiscriminatory basis, so she thought, fuck it, at least she’d be awake. She stared at the unread emails in the company inbox, a sad whine escaping her throat like a deflated balloon.

Shang Qinghua called for Yuka, who looked annoyed like she’d been interrupted, which she probably had been.

“Got a minute?”

“No, but I’m here now. What is it?”

Shang Qinghua pressed her hands together and pointed them at Yuka. “I would like to offer you a promotion.”

Yuka immediately turned and walked out the door.

“Wait, wait, don’t go! I don’t mean a promotion like mine, I’m talking for real, I swear so please don’t go okay!”

Yuka turned back around reluctantly and crossed her arms. Shang Qinghua babbled on without prompting.

“Look, I know working here sucks! I know working for _me_ sucks!” Shang Qinghua’s head sunk into her hands, her voice a plaintive whine. “But I’m doing my best, I really am! There are just so many emails, and booking bands is really hard and I have to start reconciling the month’s finances and it’s just _too much work!_ Please be my general manager! I am begging you!”

“Yeah, and it’s pathetic.” Yuka regarded Shang Qinghua with her usual heartless gaze. “I want a raise.”

“I just gave you a raise!”

“Yeah, but not for a promotion. You can’t expect me to take a promotion without a raise.”

Shang Qinghua sat back in her chair, feeling cornered. “Okay, I’ll, uh, I’m gonna take a look and see what I can offer you…” 

Yuka gave her a hard look for a long moment, then sighed. “Look. If paying me more is going to make it harder for us to recover, then you don’t have to give me a raise right now. But I’m expecting one as soon as we’re back in the black.”

“Yes! Yes, for sure, I will definitely give you a raise when I can afford it,” Shang Qinghua promised quickly. She hesitated. “Ah, does this apply to the raise I gave you earlier, or—”

Yuka silenced her with a withering look. Shang Qinghua cowered in her chair. Yuka pinched the bridge of her nose, the corners of her mouth tugging down.

“Why do you think it sucks to work here?”

Shang Qinghua looked up, blinking. Yuka’s mouth pinched.

“It _does_ suck to work for you. But if I really hated it here, don’t you think I’d have quit already? Actually, I think the fact that I haven’t quit yet should tell you how much I like working here.”

Well, that was a relief, yes. But… “Why _do_ you like working here?”

“Because I care about this place too.” She wasn’t embarrassed to say it, lifting her chin. “The old management was rotten. Everyone knew that. But I care about the music here. Even if the old owners never really scouted bands for their talent or their sound, only caring about making a buck…not that it worked. But this place has always had potential to help the bands who play here grow. We could foster real growth here, contribute to the Shinjuku sound. Princess Cucumber was right, you know—this last show really was different.”

There was a lot to unpack there, but the thing that Shang Qinghua’s attention snagged on was— “Wait, you read her blog?”

“That overrated hipster? I don’t pay attention to anyone who labels themselves as an ‘influencer’. I just checked her review so I’d know whether you’d be a major bummer today.”

“It was a pretty decent review, wasn’t it?” Shang Qinghua leaned back in her chair, propping her feet on her desk. “Come to think of it, Marina said something similar. About fostering growth and all that.”

Yuka lifted one eyebrow. “Marina?”

“Yeah, Tsukishima Marina from CiRCLE. She was the one who hooked us up with an audition from Afterglow.”

“Oh. That explains that. Get your feet off the desk.”

Shang Qinghua immediately obeyed, despite the fact that it was her desk, not Yuka’s. She looked up at her new general manager. “Do you know her?”

“Marina? Yeah, we were in a band together once.”

“Wait, you played in a band? For real?” She shouldn’t have been surprised, especially after this little heart-to-heart. By Yuka standards, it definitely counted as a heart-to-heart. But still! She was unlocking new levels of Yuka lore! “What instrument? Why’d you guys stop playing?”

Yuka ignored her first question and just shrugged. “It just didn’t work out after a while. We realized we weren’t having any fun playing anymore, so we decided to call it quits. It was forever ago. I heard she’d gotten a job at a live house, but I didn’t realize it was at CiRCLE. Good for her.”

She turned back to the door. “Well, if that’s it, I’m getting back to work.”

Shang Qinghua sat back and breathed a little sigh of relief. That didn’t solve all of her problems, not by a long shot, but it alleviated the pressure just a little bit. Shang Qinghua decided to put off the emails for a little bit in favor of looking over the finances. She might as well get a head start, considering how many creditors the live house owed to, and the sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could start nursing her new ulcer.

* * *

“I am _so_ sorry I have to do this.” Shang Qinghua’s voice was thick, choked with misery. “But I don’t have any other choice. I have to find a way to make ends meet. I…I have to let you go.”

With great heaviness in her heart, Shang Qinghua carefully lowered one of her anime figures in a box for shipping. She was taking serious psychic damage here, but she really didn’t have any other choice if she wanted to pay (very) late rent!

Not for the first time, the rent for the Mile High Club was going to have to be supplemented by her own measly savings and what she scrounged together selling a couple of her figures online. An auction would’ve been better, she probably could’ve gotten more money, but…she really needed the cash as soon as possible. 

If all the bills were due at the same time of the month, she’d have more time to put together the money. But Shang Qinghua was cut no such breaks. There were just so many deadlines, it was hard to keep track! And she was usually behind on them anyway, throwing money at the live house’s bills as soon as there was enough liquid to cover a check. Shang Qinghua had to keep spreadsheets just to keep track of how much money the Mile High Club owed to whom and why. She was getting so, so sick of spreadsheets.

But even forgoing her own rent, even selling off her precious personal belongings to throw into the bottomless well of the live house’s debt, wasn’t a sustainable solution. Yuka was right: a couple of successful shows wasn’t going to be enough. They had to start selling out gigs on the regular, or close enough to it, before Shang Qinghua’s personal funds evaporated entirely.

Shang Qinghua twisted her hair up into a bun to get it off her sweaty neck and reached over with a foot to nudge the box fan in the corner on. So much for composing tonight; the last couple of weeks had been so nauseatingly hectic, she was extra behind on the admin end of things, and she needed to sort shit out before debt collectors came knocking on the Mile High Club’s doors. Flipping between the live house’s accounting books in her lap and her bank account and menagerie of spreadsheets on her laptop, Shang Qinghua tried to find a solution. She was already cutting corners, but maybe she could take over all the custodial duties at the live house? She wasn’t sure she’d have time. And if she started having to cut her employees’ hours down…ugh, no! That was the last thing she wanted to do! What was the point of keeping the business open if her own staff couldn’t make a living wage working there? They definitely wouldn’t be restocking shochu there any time soon, though, Shang Qinghua thought glumly.

So she’d slash a few personal expenses, then. Sure, her spending had become pretty austere since ownership of the live house had been dropped on her—she’d passed up a Nendoroid preorder she’d been looking forward to with an actual, physical pang in her chest—and she hadn’t bought new clothes in, well, longer than that. Food? She was already down to pretty much the cheapest stuff imaginable…she could stop buying alcohol, that was no problem, but she didn’t even really spend that much on beer. Could she subsidize her diet by partially living off the snack bar at work? Augh, no, that would hurt her bottom line too! Shang Qinghua buried her face in her keyboard with a moan. She’d just had such a success! It was totally unfair that things still looked this bleak!!

But at the very least, Peerless Cucumber’s review, while not exactly raving, had nudged a little more business their way. Practice studio bookings were up, for one, and with Yuka’s help, they were actually filling out their lineup for the next couple of weeks, less of a week-to-week sprint now, more of a marathon. It’d be too much to ask for a headliner like Afterglow every weekend at this point, but Yuka had managed to talk the main act who abandoned them at the disastrous concert into coming back for another show. It wasn’t enough to save Shang Qinghua’s wallet right now, but it might just be enough in the long run. If they could keep it up.

* * *

There was, Shang Qinghua had to admit, something pretty satisfying about making the numbers fit. It would be a lot more satisfying if the numbers looked better, but now at the very least, she’d figured out which bills would be paid on time, which would be late and by how much, and…miscellaneous.

She was still working on miscellaneous.

“Shang Qinghua!”

She jumped automatically at Yuka’s short bark. One of these days, she’d—get used to it, probably! She peeled herself out of her chair and hobbled into the lobby, her left leg having fallen asleep from the knee down.

Yuka was on the phone, jerking a thumb back to the practice studios. “Studio B needs breaking down. They’re almost done in there.”

It was a Thursday, so Studio B’s residents were Proud Immortal Demon Way. Shang Qinghua could hear trickles of their sound as she approached, and her ears pricked. She decided to loiter a little just outside the door, curious. Whatever they were playing now, she didn’t recognize it.

The sound of Luo Binghe’s guitar cut out abruptly. 

“Stop, everyone stop!”

Six Balls played a couple more bars on the drums, heedless of Luo Binghe’s semi-anguished tone, before finishing it off with a fill. Luo Binghe let out a noise of frustration.

“This is a mess. There’s no way this is good enough for Shen Yuan-sama.” Dejection was clear in her voice. “Six Balls, you’re going way too fast. This is supposed to be a ballad!”

“This is a ballad?” Sha Hualing scoffed. “Who writes a ballad that starts off with power chords at top volume?”

“It’s a power ballad,” Luo Binghe said defensively. Sha Hualing picked out a sarcastic riff on her guitar in response.

“We’ve only just started to write this song,” Mobei Jun said, her voice cutting firmly through the rising squabble. “You can hardly judge its quality at this point; there’s not enough _to_ judge. The lyrics you’re writing are coming along, but you have to give the rest of the band a chance to catch up. We’ve been working on this for less than a week.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t help that you keep changing the chord progression,” Sha Hualing said. “How’re we supposed to write anything that doesn’t sound like shit?”

“It needs to be perfect,” Luo Binghe insisted, stubbornly strumming out yet another reshuffled chord progression. “Not like our other songs. It has to be truly memorable.”

“Hey, what’s wrong with our other songs?” Six Balls said. Sha Hualing crossed her arms and glared at Luo Binghe, who only bristled in response, clutching her guitar with a white-knuckled grip.

Mobei Jun put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Binghe,” she said, “you’re overthinking it. The more you try to force it, the unhappier you’ll be with it. So don’t push so hard. We’re not on a deadline. I think you’d be better off focusing on the lyrics right now and leave the music to us. Make sure they say what you want them to say, and we’ll make sure the sound resonates.”

Luo Binghe let out an unhappy noise, but dropped it at that. Shang Qinghua knocked on the door and cracked it open to peer inside.

“Hey, guys, you’ve got a couple of minutes left. Need some help packing up?”

“Please, thank you. We must have lost track of time,” Meiyin said, with a meaningful look at both Sha Hualing and Luo Binghe. Only Sha Hualing caught it, and she made a face, mouthing _it’s not my faaaauuult_ back at her. With a long, dramatic sigh, Luo Binghe unplugged her amp and collected her notebook. Shang Qinghua politely pretended not to notice any of this.

“Ah, no worries, I get it, you know? Sometimes you’re just really in the zone.” Shang Qinghua started breaking down the drum set with Six Balls’s help. “So…you guys writing a new song? I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

Mobei Jun looked at her sharply, and though she was still holding her bass, something about her posture strongly gave off an “arms crossed across the chest while staring down at you” vibe. For a teenager, she really could be kind of…imperious sometimes. Shang Qinghua privately wondered if it had occurred to the band to really incorporate Mobei Jun’s ice queen vibes into their image. Honestly, their stage outfits kind of lacked cohesion. They could do with a few design pointers to really sharpen that image…

Mobei Jun was asking her a question. Shang Qinghua shook her mind back to the present. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, is anyone using the studio after us?” Mobei Jun repeated. She didn’t really sound annoyed, but she did regard Shang Qinghua with a universal coldness, so she didn’t have to.

“Oh—nah, you guys are the last in for tonight.”

“In that case, I’d like to extend the reservation by another thirty minutes.” Mobei Jun nodded curtly to her bandmates. “Solo practice. Go home if you like.”

Luo Binghe was already hurrying out of the studio as soon as her guitar was in her case, without waiting for her bandmates. Mobei Jun’s mouth thinned slightly.

“I’ll be right back. Can the rest of you handle cleanup?”

“You got it, Momo,” Six Balls said, punctuating with a tap on the hi-hat Shang Qinghua was currently trying to disassemble. Mobei Jun wasn’t really an expressively fond person, but Shang Qinghua imagined there were very few people in the world who could get away with calling her _Momo_. Mobei Jun only nodded and strode after Luo Binghe.

“Binghe.”

Luo Binghe almost kept going, but stopped at the front doors, crossing her arms. But she didn’t look angry so much as sulky, jaw clenched and shoulders hunched. Mobei Jun was used to her moods by now, even if the others weren’t.

“What,” Luo Binghe said flatly. Mobei Jun lifted a finger to point at her.

“I understand that you want to show your passion through our music. I understand wanting to make an impression on someone you look up to.” She spoke deliberately, unrushed, each word weighted. Her brows drew down. “But you are not the only member of this band. Or have you forgotten why we started Proud Immortal Demon Way in the first place?”

Luo Binghe’s shoulders hunched even higher, and she at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. That was enough of an answer for Mobei Jun.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Luo Binghe muttered, and pushed open the front doors.

Mobei Jun walked back to the studio.

Sha Hualing was shouldering her guitar case while Meiyin thanked Shang Qinghua for the help. Six Balls led the way out for her bandmates with her hand in a bag of peach gummies. As she passed Mobei Jun, she took one out and slapped it into Mobei Jun’s open hand. Mobei Jun accepted it with a formal nod, put the candy in her pocket, and went back into the practice studio.

Shang Qinghua was forcefully kicking a supply closet shut, having ineffectively stacked the amps and bundles of cables, but figured this was the more expedient solution anyway. Mobei Jun picked up her bass and sat back down as the latch finally clicked.

Shang Qinghua made as if to leave, then hesitated, hovering awkwardly.

“So, you guys are writing a new song?” she tried again. Mobei Jun only grunted in response, slightly adjusting a tuner on her bass. She plucked the string to test it, and fiddled with it again. Shang Qinghua did not leave. “I’ve actually got an electric tuner, if you—”

“I don’t need it,” Mobei Jun said, not looking at her. When Shang Qinghua still did not leave, she said, “I’ll pay for the extra time on my way out.”

“Oh—yeah, that’s not a problem! I just, uh…” Shang Qinghua coughed into her hand. “It just seemed like you guys were struggling with the new song, I thought maybe I could…help…with…that?”

She’d expected Mobei Jun to say something, anything in interjection (even if just a refusal), but instead her question just stretched out awkwardly while Mobei Jun tuned her bass. Mobei Jun finally looked up, her cold gaze settling on Shang Qinghua’s face. Shang Qinghua shivered involuntarily.

Jeez, what was with this girl! Luo Binghe was a handful, but you could at least divine what she was thinking between her mood swings—Shang Qinghua really didn’t know what to expect from Mobei Jun, the bassist who always silently stood behind her vocalist, backing her up musically, socially, and intimidating posingly!

After an uncomfortably long silence, Mobei Jun said, “Why do you want to help us?”

Shang Qinghua blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? You guys are like, the Mile High Club’s resident band. You play here practically every week. Also, you know, I kind of helped you guys come together as a band, you know? I even gave you your name.”

Mobei Jun did not acknowledge those last two comments in any way. Instead she said, “Every time Luo Binghe has nominated us for the main act, you’ve turned her down. Do you agree with Shen Yuan’s assessment of our band?”

Shang Qinghua choked. Please don’t align her with Peerelss Cucumber! She’s not that much of a critic! She just wants to save her business, okay!

“Uh—I wouldn’t say that, exactly. It’s true you guys need some work, but you’re a new band. Nobody starts out on top. But…” Shang Qinghua permitted herself a little swell of pride. “I definitely don’t think we’re holding you back. I don’t think anything’s holding you back, is the thing, except maybe yourselves. You’re just still coming together, is all.”

Mobei Jun watched her as she ambled over to the wall. There were a variety of instruments hung up for easy access. Rentals were for people who couldn’t or didn’t want to lug their own instruments around—or, as had been the case for Luo Binghe in the start, didn’t have an instrument of their own.

“Peerless Cucumber had one thing right: you guys are like, oozing with talent. That’s why it’s been so cool to watch you all come together as a band.” She reached for a compact little 54-key keyboard and lifted it from its stand. “But there are five of you, and you all have your own unique sound. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where they all meet at the seams. The truth is, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing what shape you guys take. You _are_ headliner material. It’s not a matter of if, but when. You’re just not quite there yet.”

By the time Shang Qinghua had finished speaking, she’d set the keyboard on a stand, plugged it in, and turned it on. “So, if I can, I’d like to give you a little help. Just a nudge, you know? You don’t have to tell anyone.”

She noticed then that Mobei Jun’s forbidding stare hadn’t changed in the slightest, and felt a wave of terrifying teen girl aura hit her. She immediately threw her hands up and backed up a step towards the door.

“Or not! I can totally get lost right now if you want. Don’t have to help at all.”

Mobei Jun seemed to be finished tuning her bass. She adjusted her grip, her left hand sliding up the neck, and looked at Shang Qinghua.

“I didn’t know you were a musician.”

“Oh, y’know, I…dabble.” Hm, that didn’t seem like a rejection at all. Shang Qinghua’s hands hovered over the keys. “How about you play me those chords, and I’ll see what I can do?”

* * *

The band met later that night at Meiyin’s house, not for more practice, but for a little post-rehearsal unwinding on Meiyin’s suggestion. As one of the two band members who habitually thought before they spoke, it wasn’t hard for Meiyin to coax them into a night of watching variety shows, relaxing herbal tea and snacks, and fixing some interrupted pedicures. 

Mobei Jun was the last to arrive, shedding her shoes at the door and heading down to the basement after politely greeting Meiyin’s mother. Six Balls had a variety of snacks spread out over the floor in front of her, produced mysteriously from the depths of her jacket. Sha Hualing was contorted into an improbable position at one end of the couch, absorbed in some phone game, while Luo Binghe lay passed out cold next to her. Meiyin was just finishing up a coat of polish on Luo Binghe’s toes with careful, delicate strokes.

“She fell asleep pretty much right away,” Meiyin said with a rueful smile, capping the bottle of polish. “I think she stayed up all night working on those lyrics.”

Six Balls dug a crumpled bag from inside her jacket and threw it at Mobei Jun, who neatly caught it out of the air. “Momo, I saved you the squid chips!”

“Thank you,” Mobei Jun said. Sha Hualing pouted at her phone. 

“How come she’s the only one who ever gets squid chips?”

“Relax, girl, I got you covered. I’m your KitKat connection.”

Without looking away from her phone, Sha Hualing halfway leaned off the couch and opened her mouth. Six Balls broke off a KitKat and stuck it into her waiting maw, holding it there while Sha Hualing munched on it and tapped furiously on her phone. When that piece was gone, Six Balls repeated the process, feeding her KitKats like she was a candy-gnashing machine.

Mobei Jun unslung her bass, sat down in an empty chaise, and pulled open the bag of squid chips. It was nice to have a post-rehearsal snack. If Meiyin was the one who kept them relaxed (as much as was possible) and well-groomed, Six Balls was the one who made sure no one went hungry.

“How was solo practice?” Meiyin asked, then frowned at Mobei Jun’s hands. “You really should let me do something about those calluses. Or at least start playing with a pick.”

“Playing with a pick doesn’t produce the desired sound,” Mobei Jun said, repeating an argument they had every other week. It was like a little ritual of theirs, one of many that had emerged since they’d become Proud Immortal Demon Way. Meiyin always gave in easily, though, and let out a little sigh. “It was productive. I think I may have made some progress.”

“Ooh, yeah?” Six Balls looked over, eyeing Mobei Jun’s bass curiously. “What’d you—ow!”

Not having realized she had run out of KitKat to feed Sha Hualing, Six Balls had accidentally stuck her fingers into Sha Hualing’s mouth, and Sha Hualing, paying more attention to her phone, had bitten down hard. Six Balls wiped her hand on Sha Hualing’s shirt, and in turn, Sha Hualing slapped the sunglasses off of Six Balls’s head.

“Enough, enough,” Meiyin said as Six Balls pulled Sha Hualing off of the couch with a giggle and a subsequent thud as they knocked each other to the floor. “Let’s not wake Binghe.”

“It’ll be easier to show the rest of you without interruption,” Mobei Jun said, knowing full well that Luo Binghe wouldn’t let her get more than a few measures in without commentary. Luo Binghe always had a sort of possessiveness about their music, but it was…definitely worse when she was so fixated on Shen Yuan. Mobei Jun set aside her squid chips and pulled her bass out, straightening her back. She nodded briefly at Meiyin, who was already moving for her keyboard.

Mobei Jun had Meiyin play the chords while she plucked out the melody on her bass, and then they switched parts, Meiyin’s keyboard quietly sounding out the new melody much more clearly. On the second go through, Six Balls picked up a pencil and tapped out a rhythm on her shoe, adding a counter beat on her lap. Sha Hualing, whose guitar was an unfathomable distance away on the other side of the basement, tossed her phone aside and listened with intent.

“Hey, is this what a ballad’s supposed to sound like?” Six Balls said. Meiyin’s mouth quirked into a smile.

“More than what we were playing earlier. I think we might have something we can work with.” She glanced at Mobei Jun. “This is different from what you usually write, isn’t it? It sounds a little warmer, somehow.”

“Binghe said she wanted to write a ballad.” Mobei Jun’s fingers still slowly picked out the notes, feeling them resonate a little more as everyone else added their sound. “Solo practice can be quite productive, as it turns out.”

Meiyin’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she smiled without comment. Sha Hualing, her fingers now itching to do something other than play with her phone, jumped over Six Balls to get her guitar.

“Well, it’s not solo practice anymore, so give me that melody,” she said with an imperious little toss of her braids, snatching her guitar from its case. “Mobei Jun, you wrote that phrase for me, right? Meiyin, you can compose a keyboard part to go with it instead.”

Mobei Jun said nothing, but Meiyin, ever the mediator, just laughed softly. “Of course, of course. I think the ideal keyboard part for this song is more of a supporting role. I can think of a few arpeggios to try. Besides, you’re much better at improvisation than I am, so I’m sure you’ll be able to tease it out into something more than just one phrase.”

“Exactly,” Sha Hualing said, putting one foot up on Mobei Jun’s chaise so she could brace her guitar on her knee. Her eyes were alight with intent new determination. Meiyin, flipping through the presets on her keyboard, didn’t bother hiding a smile. “I’ll write a killer lead guitar part for this song, and Six Balls, you can come up with a slow beat, can’t you? And Mobei Jun’s pretty much got her part figured out already. We’ll put it all together tonight. And when we play this for Binghe at practice tomorrow, she’ll be totally floored at how well we captured her _vision_. And then she won’t have a single thing to complain about!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will wring every bit of marina lore from her limited backstory with a cheesecloth
> 
> mobei jun? surprisingly compelling to write as a teenage girl. i love proud immortal demon way the band they are very important to me


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shen Yuan confides in Shang Qinghua on her mixed feelings about Airplane's latest release. Shang Qinghua and cup noodles have a no good very bad night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry that i enjoyed writing this chapter so much

Shang Qinghua didn’t get home until late Thursday, but she found herself a little less soul-suckingly weary than usual. Actually, all things considered, she was in a pretty good mood. 

The thing was, from the start, she’d gotten into music for herself: it was fun, she’d gotten the hang of composing with synths pretty easily after years of piano, and there was a distinct high that came from making things and getting people to pay attention to those things that she never stopped chasing. And she loved the art of it! Okay, so Peerless Cucumber would probably sooner choke on a guitar pick than call Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky a “real” “artist”, but if Shang Qinghua let every little hater get to her, she wouldn’t still be in the game. In her mind, a comment of praise weighed five times as much as a comment of negative criticism, so even if her fans and haters numbered the same, she’d still come out on top. She knew she’d keep making music even if no one listened, even if the music she made now was influenced by the response it received. No matter how many “fan request” tracks she churned out for extra cash, music would always be something she did because she actually really enjoyed it. 

But it felt like she was seeing another side of it since the Mile High Club and its problems had been dropped in her lap. The idea that she was helping foster the growth of young musicians, of the entire Tokyo soundscape, was…a really fulfilling one, actually. Paying the bills was always on the forefront of her mind, and it was true that high school bands were easier to book these days than older and more established acts, but when she could get past that thought: it felt good to see these kids up on her stage, playing their hearts out. It felt good to think that when they were playing, they were influencing each other’s sound, learning and growing with one another.

Maybe the endless hustle was going to Shang Qinghua’s tired head, because when she thought about it for more than a minute, she started to get choked up at the idea. All those kids playing on that stage, so young and full of promise…they were almost like her children, if you thought about it, really! 

Alright, so that was giving herself too much credit. But she’d actually sat down with Mobei Jun and jammed for a half an hour, even sent the stony-faced young bassist home with a fresh new hook to play with. If nothing else, the kids in Proud Immortal Demon Way were definitely her children! She could claim that much, okay!

High on that sweet satisfaction and a little giddy from it, Shang Qinghua decided to surprise her fans with an early release of this week’s track. A bit of a comeback, she thought, one of her most interesting and original pieces in a long time. It had felt so, so good to shake off that composer’s block, to have something come together so easily it felt like she was channeling some divine muse through her synth. Her haters would, predictably, probably hate it, but there really was no pleasing the kind of people who sucked on lemons for fun.

Yuka gave Shang Qinghua a highly suspicious look when she strolled into work whistling, but Shang Qinghua ignored it and proceeded to her office into which she then shut herself for a shockingly productive couple of hours. Yuka would be so impressed, if she could be bothered to care about Shang Qinghua’s logistical prowess, but that was fine. Shang Qinghua would be impressed for her. They might still be behind on the bills, but Shang Qinghua, perpetually broke, was great at cutting corners! They were inching back towards breaking even, bit by agonizing bit. All they had to do was keep that forward momentum going, and the Mile High Club might just make it. 

When she finally emerged from her office for a snack break, Shen Yuan was sitting at one of the tables by the drink bar, hard at work. Well, Shang Qinghua assumed that frowning deeply at her laptop counted as hard at work. When had she shown up? Shang Qinghua was about to ask if she wanted something to drink when she saw that there was already a can of coffee on the table next to her laptop.

She caught Yuka’s sullen look from across the room and flashed her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Yuka’s expression flared into a glower, and she slammed the door to the studios shut behind her, a guitar case on her back. Ah, what a devoted employee! For all her bellyaching, Yuka was going along with the Shen Yuan schmooze plan. Shang Qinghua felt like doing a little victory lap. That was tantamount to Yuka admitting she was right about something, basically!

Her good mood unspoilable, Shang Qinghua dropped herself in a chair opposite Shen Yuan and grinned. “Finally got thirsty?”

Shen Yuan looked up, removed one earbud, and raised an eyebrow. Shang Qinghua shrugged, palms out.

“Haven’t seen you all week. I was starting to worry you’d never show your fan here ever again.”

Shang Qinghua grinned at her own stupid pun even as Shen Yuan rolled her eyes, but conceded to remove her other earbud. The truth was that Shang Qinghua hadn’t been that worried about it—that was partly a function of how busy she was, but Shen Yuan actually answered her DMs now! Granted, it was usually with incredibly short-worded responses, or worse, a single emoji, but that was fine. She didn’t need to be friends with Shen Yuan; she just had to stay on her radar. 

“I have other places to be,” she said airily, and Shang Qinghua swore she was about to go for the fan, but instead she lifted the can of coffee in a delicate grip. Ahh, she was always just off the mark when it came to the himedere thing. You had to add that haughty little lift of the chin, pinky held daintily out, or the effect was totally ruined. Shang Qinghua flapped a hand.

“Sure, sure, all those other cafés that give you free drinks while you work, right?”

Shen Yuan let out a little _pfft_. “I don’t actually spend all day blogging, you know. I have a life.”

“Oh, yeah? You must be a real fast writer, then.” And a popular one, yes, Shang Qinghua had to concede. Maybe she really did have a life outside blogging, but it was hard to imagine. It wasn’t like Shen Yuan was a celebrity-level knockout or anything, but seeing her in person again, it _was_ getting kind of hard to completely reconcile her cool, (kind of) elegant image with the fervent anti-fan whose comments Shang Qinghua had been reading for years. Disappointingly, she hadn’t seen a trace of the heated, contrary message-board-spamming nerd since the night of the Afterglow concert. Shen Yuan acted just as cool and distant towards Shang Qinghua has she had before those couple of drinks. If Shang Qinghua didn’t recall it so vividly, she might have been tricked into thinking she’d dreamed the whole conversation. The whole thing kind of gave her whiplash. Shang Qinghua might have been a loser, but at least she was consistent!

“Usually, yes.” Then, to Shang Qinghua’s surprised, Shen Yuan frowned.

When she neither continued nor put her earbuds back in, Shang Qinghua ventured, “Buuut…?”

Shen Yuan blew out a little sigh that puffed up her bangs for a second. Absent-mindedly patting them carefully back into place, she said with a trace of hesitation, “I’m just…having a little trouble with this post, that’s all.”

“Oh yeah?” Shang Qinghua leaned in, tenting her fingers. Yes, please, go on, tell her all about it! Maybe it was a little mean of her to be so eager to get a peep at Shen Yuan’s weak points, but could you really blame her? Either Shen Yuan really was that cool, or she spent a lot of time making it _seem_ like she was that cool, and Shang Qinghua just really wanted to know which it was, okay!

Shen Yuan’s lips thinned, like she was really debating the merit of telling her problems to the loser who all but paid her to hang out here. “You read my blog, don’t you? So you must have read at least some of the posts about Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky.”

The little ball of glee dancing in Shang Qinghua’s chest immediately froze, as did the smile on her face. She couldn’t play dumb against a direct question like that! It’d be too suspicious!

“Ahaha…I mean, yeah, you do write about her kind of a lot, don’t you?”

Shen Yuan stiffened slightly, pushing her glasses up her nose. “I write about her _music_ , when she releases it. I can’t control the fact that she releases something new _every week_. It’s ridiculous.”

Yes, sure, but no one said you have to write about it every week! There’s no reason you couldn’t do a monthly digest or something! Shang Qinghua kept her mouth shut on this point, however.

“So, what’s the big deal? I thought hating on Airplane’s music was like, second nature to you.”

“It’s not hating, it’s _criticism_.”

It was totally unfair that Shen Yuan could somehow maintain that dignified air while saying something so stupid. Shang Qinghua suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, kept her mouth shut, and let Shen Yuan keep talking. 

“I call it like I see it. Airplane’s number one problem, overall? Consistency. She’s shown some promise, is the thing, but it’s mixed in with all the mindless drivel. It’d be so much _less_ frustrating if it was unilaterally terrible. And when she finally _does_ show some consistency, it’s a total disappointment. A few months ago, it was like all her real talent finally dried up, and everything she’s put out since has been almost unlistenable garbage.”

Shang Qinghua fought to keep her expression in place as she took ten thousand points of psychic damage. Ouch, okay, ouch! It was one thing reading about herself on Peerless Cucumber’s blog from the comfort of her rickety desk chair, rolling her eyes and snickering at the fervent criticism, but hearing it in person, straight from the cucumber’s mouth? Actually kind of mortifying!

She had to close her teeth against the flood of protests that immediately welled up in her throat. It had nothing to do with talent, okay! It’s just that her now full-time job has swallowed her whole and she’s been too busy bribing and begging you to help her save her business to make anything worth listening to!!

Besides, what about the single she’d just released! While Shang Qinghua could agree that her work lately wasn’t of the highest quality, she was pretty proud of yesterday’s release!

“Right,” Shang Qinghua said, and she even managed not to totally choke on the word. “So what’s the problem, then? If it’s all so, uh, totally trash, shouldn’t this be a cinch for you?”

Shen Yuan pursed her lips, her fingers closing around her coffee. “That’s the thing,” she said slowly, almost reluctantly. “It _would_ be easy to write another one-star review if it was her usual trash. But she put out an early release yesterday and it’s…actually not terrible.”

Shang Qinghua’s heart skipped a beat.

Wait, hang on! Why would she get even a little bit worked up over a lukewarm compliment from Shen Yuan? Yes, yes, she was like a dog at the dinner table when it came to good reviews; she’d never pass up a single scrap of praise, no matter who it came from, but it wasn’t like Peerless Cucumber had never written a single nice thing about her music. So really, Shen Yuan acknowledging that a good song, already a huge hit with Airplane’s fanbase, “wasn’t terrible” wasn’t even that much of a compliment!

It was just that, much like with the criticism (“criticism”), it was different when Shen Yuan was sitting across the table from her in those stupid hipster glasses, with that stupid oh-so-cool and distant look, and saying it out loud. The effect was totally different, okay!

So why did she feel like she was taking another ten thousand points of psychic damage?!

Shang Qinghua, realizing she’d gone a little too long without a response, finally managed to say, “Ah, yeah? So what’s different about this new song?”

Shen Yuan frowned, gesturing vaguely with one hand while she tried to find the words. Shang Qinghua noticed, belatedly, that her fingernails were painted a pale shade of green, sensibly matte. “It just sounds… _fresh_. I haven’t figured out how to put it into words yet. Here—”

She pulled her phone out of her bag, offering her earbuds to Shang Qinghua. If this weren’t such a personally agonizing situation for Shang Qinghua, this might have been kind of a cute gesture, even from Shen Yuan. Especially from Shen Yuan, since she channeled that cool and aloof vibe so hard! But as it was, the prospect of listening to her own music in front of an expectant Shen Yuan was a little too much to bear, and she actually jumped back, her chair scraping against the floor with an ugly squeal.

“Uh, aha, thanks, but I can listen to it later!” Shang Qinghua cleared her throat, mindful of the strange look she was getting from Shen Yuan, and slapped a bland smile over her face. “I mean, I’ll totally listen to it later. But I kinda want to hear what you think of it first.”

No, she didn’t! She really didn’t! In fact, Shang Qinghua was currently contemplating what limb she had to gnaw off to escape this conversation. But what else was she supposed to say? She didn’t have any good options here!

Shen Yuan frowned at Shang Qinghua, then down at her earbuds, with the air of someone faintly offended but too graceful to show it. She slid her phone back into her purse. “It’s just…got a certain energy. Maybe it’s the beat that’s different. Airplane tends to favor bland backbeats—she might as well just set some of her music to a metronome, you’d barely notice—but this is…more dynamic sounding? Ah, no, but a good beat isn’t enough to make a mediocre track actually listenable. And if it were just the instrumentation that were different, it’d be no better than palette swapping bad monster designs. It’s more like…” 

She gestured uselessly a little more, then huffed out a sigh. “Well, if I could put it into words so easily, I wouldn’t be having such a hard time writing this post.”

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua said distantly, rubbing her jaw, “yeah. Makes sense.”

Her mouth was oddly dry, and her stomach was starting to feel like it was trying to digest itself. Really, she should make some excuse for work—it wasn’t like she didn’t have plenty to do!—now was the time to exit this conversation if there was one. But Shang Qinghua felt rooted to the spot, and didn’t get up from her chair, instead saying, “Is it more like, I dunno…like she’s returning to her roots as an artist?”

Shen Yuan blinked, touching a finger to her chin in thought. Her brow furrowed slightly. “Actually…that is an apt way of putting it, yes.”

Shang Qinghua immediately wanted to bite off her own tongue and swallow it whole. Why! Would she say something! So stupid! And so on point! She already confirmed that she’d, technically, never even listened to this song, not to mention, she’d really never claimed to be a fan of Airplane’s in the first place! No matter how you looked at it, it was suspicious!

But if Shen Yuan suspected anything at all, she didn’t show it. Her eyes actually brightened; it made her look a little less distant. Her fan had found its way into her hand again, and she was tapping it against her palm with a thoughtful look.

“That’s exactly it—it doesn’t feel like she’s breaking into totally new territory; it feels familiar. It sounds sort of like she’s rediscovered the things about her music that actually make it _good_. All of her recent releases have felt so stale, even her covers—I mean, how do you make a Hare Hare Yukai dance mix sound so _flat?_ —but this week’s single…it’s almost like Airplane managed to breathe a little life back into her music.”

Shang Qinghua had to swallow a hysterical, high-pitched sound that rose from her throat. A tiny, strangled squeak managed to escape, but Shen Yuan either didn’t notice or pretended not to. Shang Qinghua felt like her head was caving in, like the feeling you got crossing your eyes for too long, but on the level of her entire brain. Such unequivocal praise (cover comments aside) should be pure elation, and it kind of was, but at the same time, she was possessed with the powerful desire to run screaming from this conversation. Hahahaha, what the fuck???

Of course she wanted Peerless Cucumber to give her a good review every once in a while, who wouldn’t, but this third party confessional was way too weird! Would Shen Yuan ever actually say any of this if she knew she was talking to Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky in the flesh? It was really asking way too much of her to take this with a straight face!

But before Shang Qinghua could crack, Shen Yuan’s brows drew down and she sat back. “But I can’t just _write_ that.”

Shang Qinghu snapped out of her cognitive dissonance. “What? Why not?”

Shen Yuan snapped her fan open, and this time, Shang Qinghua had the distinct impression that she was hiding behind it. Her shoulders were even ever-so-slightly hunched. “I have standards to uphold, you know. I’ve been giving Airplane one-star reviews for months now. If I start giving her positive reviews all of a sudden, my f—my readers might think my integrity as a critic has been compromised.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but stare. “But you just said it was a good track!”

“I said it was _not terrible_ ,” Shen Yuan sniffed. “It certainly doesn’t merit a rave review.”

Shang Qinghua’s soul emitted a sound like a deflating balloon. It doesn’t have to be a rave review, you could just write what you just said to me! Besides, if you pretend to hate music you actually think is good, how is that not compromising your integrity as a critic!

But Shang Qinghua bit back every one of these comments. If she argued, she’d seem way too invested in Airplane’s music and Peerless Cucumber’s opinion of it, and that would definitely be suspicious. Swallowing her pride along with a confusing tangle of other feelings, she made a vague noise of concession, and when it seemed safe, changed the topic.

“So…I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?”

The standing offer had implied that Shen Yuan would come to more than just one show, and they needed more than just a special appearance to build a reputation. It was lazy and a little disdainful to hitch the Mile High Club’s reputation to Shen Yuan’s coattails, but Shang Qinghua had long since surrendered her compunctions. Shen Yuan tilted her head behind her fan.

“Is ochawari still on the menu?”

Shang Qinghua snorted. “Yeah, nobody else drinks that stuff. What are you, an old man? Besides, this is a live house. People mostly just order beer.”

Shen Yuan’s eyebrow twitched, but she only said, “Mm. Well, if you managed to pull together a lineup for this weekend…”

Shang Qinghua grinned. “Sure did, and no last minute auditions this time! I mean, we don’t have any stand-out bands like Afterglow on the roster, but, you know, better than an empty stage, right?”

“I wouldn’t show up for an empty stage,” Shen Yuan said primly, which Shang Qinghua took as a yes. Keenly aware of how much work she still had to do and desperately afraid of being sucked into another conversation about her own music, she quickly got out of Shen Yuan’s hair and headed back for the practice studios, so she could scream into a pillow in the comfort of a soundproofed room.

* * *

When Peerless Cucumber’s review of Airplane’s new single went up, it was, to Shang Qinghua’s surprise, a grudgingly positive review. Well, lukewarm was probably a better word for it, but for all of Shen Yuan’s fussing about her reputation, she’d included the reflections on Airplane’s revived sound that she’d discussed with Shang Qinghua, if a little less flatteringly worded.

Ah, so you really do like to draft your blog posts out loud!

Reading her review didn’t have the same stupefying effect on Shang Qinghua as discussing it in person, and she brushed it off as the shock of having that experience for the first time. She’d definitely handle it way better next time, if it ever came up again.

At any rate, she was still riding the creative high she’d had going for the last few days. She had a classic Caramelldansen remix lined up for next week—you had to pad out the good ones, you couldn’t turn out a masterpiece every week—but she was steadily building a pile of very promising musical sketches. Filling them in was always the most fun part, seeing what she could stitch together and what she could extrapolate and expand. Composing music was almost like solving a puzzle sometimes, and it was immensely satisfying.

She spent a couple of hours after the show on Saturday just dicking around on her keyboard and recording sketches, a few set aside for experimentation with her concept album. She was still squeezing in time for that where she could. Around 3am, once her brain had started interpreting all music as a drawn-out drone, she settled in at her laptop and messed around with six tabs’ worth of picrews. She was developing a new OC for the album, but she really couldn’t afford to commission a character design right now. The problem with using these things for reference was that they almost always had a vast selection, but were missing one crucial detail or another! It was going to be a challenge to make a model without a proper reference. Ah, but she’d figure it out one way or another.

She treated herself to a spicy new flavor of ramen as a late night (early morning) snack. This was the last of the cup noodles, with the little dried veggies she liked…after this it was back to packet ramen, where she’d have to supply any other ingredients herself (she wouldn’t), and it was slightly more work. Ah, her life was so hard!

But, even sitting in her cramped apartment in a t-shirt so threadbare it could barely be counted as decent, she laughed out loud at that thought. Yeah, sure, she definitely didn’t have it easy, but lately, things were going pretty alright. Maybe not everything was coming up Airplane, but the situation at the live house was improving.

Slurping up her noodles, she relaxed by fractions, letting in a long breath she must have been holding for weeks now. She’d been working so hard lately; didn’t she deserve a little break? She couldn’t afford to go out, much as she was feeling in the karaoke mood…but singing in her apartment was free!

She had the decency to put earbuds in at least, and even tried to keep her voice down for her neighbors’ sake. They’d complained without restraint the last time she’d stayed up late; apparently her brainless laughter had penetrated the thin walls that separated their apartments. Shang Qinghua wanted to point out that they were far from quiet when they were making love (if you could call it that), but that might leave both parties with too little face, and at any rate, her neighbors’ glares had her sufficiently cowed. But she’d keep her voice down as a courtesy, so you couldn’t say she was a bad neighbor, okay!

But her restraint only lasted a few songs. She’d added a few of Afterglow’s songs to her apartment karaoke playlist, because their music really was good and it was perfect for belting out just a little off-key, and by the time she hit [Y.O.LO.!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PdHmeItuPI), she was at full volume. Her neighbors were knocking angrily on the walls, but with her headphones turned up, she couldn’t hear them, too absorbed in her frantic air drumming. Man, that Tomoe really knew how to lay down a good beat! She supposed it was to be expected of a band that had been together since their middle school days, but really, no matter how you looked at it, they were pretty impressive for a high school band!

She was too absorbed in wailing on her air guitar to realize how precariously close to her desk she was until she backed right up against her chair. It slammed into the desk, jostling it hard, and her still-steaming cup of noodles toppled over onto her open laptop.

“Fuck!” 

Afterglow still blaring in her ears, she fumbled with trying to pull out her earbuds and rescue her laptop at the same time. She succeeded mainly in tangling her left hand in the cable for her headphones and half-lifting her laptop in her right before she lost her grip and it crashed back down to the desk. The styrofoam cup, with its remaining broth and noodles, sailed off the desk and directly onto her very old and not entirely up-to-code power strip.

It was probably just as well that she dropped her laptop, because as the power strip sparked and smoked, a frantic current of electricity surged up through the laptop’s power cord and snuffed the life out of her computer with an alarming zap. A second later, tiny tendrils of gray smoke began to creep out from the spaces between the keys.

“Ohhh fuck, oh no, fuck fuck fuck—”

Shang Qinghua devolved into a garbled yell of protest, dancing in place, reaching for her laptop then withdrawing her hand, afraid of getting zapped in turn. With a horrible sick sinking feeling, she had to conclude that it was beyond saving. Shang Qinghua pressed F in her heart.

It wasn’t until she turned around to pick up the spilled cup that she realized the power strip had caught fire.

Fuck!!!

What started out as a few angry sparks quickly caught on the pile of dirty laundry next to (almost on top of) the power strip, thick smoke filling the air. Shang Qinghua instinctively lunged to pull the broth-soaked plug from the outlet with—wait, fuck, not with her bare hands! She didn’t have a death wish, okay! She instead grabbed a not-on-fire sweater that had seen better days, wrapped it around the base of the plug, and yanked it free.

It hadn’t been that hard to pull out, but Shang Qinghua let go immediately and tumbled back onto her ass, narrowly avoiding being burned by the fire that was quickly spreading through her cramped apartment. She scrambled away from the dirty laundry bonfire as her stupid, tired, panicked brain racked itself for next steps. What the fuck do you do when you set your own apartment on fire with cup noodles! Who even does that! Of course, if this had to happen to anyone, it had to happen to her!

The smoke alarm was already blaring by the time she remembered where the fire extinguisher was (hanging on the narrow sliver of wall next to her fridge) and she fumbled with it uselessly until she remembered there were instructions on the side of the fucking thing. She could hear her neighbors flooding the corridor, a muffled murmur of confusion, alarm, and irritation. It was indeed really fucking alarming how quickly the smoke was filling her apartment, stinging at her eyes, as she finally managed to release a burst of fire retardant foam, but the fire was already climbing up the nearest bookshelf, claiming years of collected music magazines, manga, and scorebooks. And at the top—ah, no! Not her best girls!! At this rate, they’d be reduced to multicolored blobs of plastic.

When the coughs turned to gasps, she gave up, dropped the fire extinguisher, realized it might explode if she left it here, picked it back up, and ran out of her apartment in bare feet. It didn’t occur to her that she should have grabbed a robe, because as she filed outside with the rest of the building, she was the only one not wearing pants. At least she was wearing a shirt this time?

It was already apparent to her nearest neighbors by the smell of smoke soaked into her hair, the fire extinguisher she was clutching in her shaking arms, and her general reputation that she was the source of the late-night disturbance. Shang Qinghua smiled with desperate, nervous apology at her neighbors, an increasing number of whom were giving her dirty looks sharp enough to kill. Augh, this really was the true meaning of “glaring daggers”!!

Her neighbors were restrained by courtesy from going off on her, though she could tell that some of them really, really wanted to. She was probably only saved by the fact that, in the end, aside from the lingering perfume of heavy smoke, the only real damage had been to her own apartment. Shang Qinghua was lucky there was even an apartment to go back to; at least the damage hadn’t been absolute. But no level of courtesy could save her from her landlady, who made it clear that she was through tolerating Shang Qinghua’s rent delinquency, and if she didn’t pay up what she owed plus damages for the fire, she could start packing what was left of her belongings up and be out of there in thirty days. 

Swallowing a fat lump of panic, misery and tears, Shang Qinghua hurriedly promised to send her landlady everything she owed in the morning and trudged up to her apartment to assess the damage. The smell of smoke and burned plastic would probably take days to air out through the tiny windows, but that was the least of her concerns. Her desk had been destroyed and her laptop along with it, and the fire had totally devoured one bookshelf and gotten halfway through the next one; only a few of her treasured anime figures still remained unscathed. Shang Qinghua estimated a conservative half of her small wardrobe had survived the fire, but with so much of it heaped in varying piles around her apartment, it was hard to tell. The only true miracle was that, with the exception of an aged Yamaha keyboard, her instruments were still intact. Not that a pile of synths and MIDI controllers did her any good without a computer, but…still. And while the keyboard hadn’t been a huge material loss, it’d held some sentimental value. She didn’t use it much these days, but it was the first instrument she’d ever bought herself, and she’d kept it around for nostalgia's sake. Ah, a brave sacrifice to keep its brethren safe, for sure…

She was too frazzled to think straight anymore. She hadn’t shaken the panic attack that had bubbled up on her flight from the building, and it still churned hot and sick in the pit of her stomach. Every time she even began to think about what she’d have to do now, she was so bowled over by the enormity of the situation that her brain promptly shorted out into tears. Shang Qinghua lay on her singed futon alternating between crying and coughing for an hour before she decided she was sick of smelling like smoke. 

She zoned out so hard in the shower as soon as she finished washing her hair that she failed to notice the passage of time at all until the water ran cold. She managed to wash the smell out of her hair, but unfortunately her towels smelled plenty like smoke, and the clothes she scrounged together even more so. By the time she dropped herself back onto her futon, eyes rimmed red and mouth dry, dawn was already peeking through her shuttered windows.

Fuck it. There was no way she was going to sleep now, and she had to be at work later anyway; all that was going to happen between now and then was more stomach-gnawing over her finances. And her career! The Mile High Club aside, how was she supposed to make any music without a fucking computer! Just thinking about all the work she’d lost—the handful of buffer tracks she’d managed to produce, the half dozen or so sketches in the works—was enough to send her into tears again. She was already feeding the Mile High Club’s finances with her meager private funds; if Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky went on hiatus, that revenue stream was going to dry up real quick. There were so many places she really needed to be putting money she was no longer about to have, and her head felt like it was going to cave in. 

Her furious stomach finally won out, and Shang Qinghua lurched from her futon to the bathroom in a single wild leap that immediately felt like a mistake. Her internal monologue was a mix of a steady mantra of _fuck fuck fuck_ and a mental cascade of spreadsheets she didn’t even ask for as she threw up what little she’d eaten—ah, that precious last cup of noodles! She really had to stop eating the spicy stuff, whichever end it came out, it usually resulted in agony, but couldn’t the universe cut her a break! Just! This! Once!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all good things must come to an end for shang qinghua (for now)
> 
> anyway [Y.O.L.O!!! is a bop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2PdHmeItuPI)
> 
> stay tuned, next chapter is an extra long one!!
> 
> if u like shitposting u can follow me on twitter [@misakisyndrome](https://twitter.com/misakisyndrome)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are still looking grim for the Mile High Club, but Marina offers a lead on an event that might help them make a comeback. Shen Yuan has opinions about Airplane's sudden hiatus. Shang Qinghua is finally paid a visit by one of the live house's creditors and receives a nasty shock, while Mobei Jun deals with problems at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an extra long chapter. merry chrysler!
> 
> marina & poppin'party guest star ~~episode~~ chapter! whimsical trope meta! really embracing the multimedia fic life here

Shang Qinghua didn’t have the money to pay her employees overtime, nor did Yuka think she would in the near future, possibly ever. But regardless of the mess the previous owners had made of the Mile High Club, Yuka liked working there, and she didn’t really want to look for a new job. It wasn’t that a manager with her experience didn’t stand a chance at a job at another live house; hell, if she was really willing to swallow a few bitter pills, she could probably even get a job at CiRCLE. But, for better or for worse, CiRCLE was not Yuka’s scene; the Mile High Club was.

So even though their doors opened at noon, and most of the staff came in around eleven-thirty, Yuka showed up no later than nine every day, no matter how late the previous night was. It was nice to have the building quiet and to herself, just for a little while. Besides, there was never any shortage of work waiting for her, especially with her recent “promotion”.

The doors unlocked with a quiet click, and the lights flickered to life overhead, illuminating the instruments hung along the far wall. Yuka paused to wipe down the front counter as she did every morning before she headed for the office, unslinging her bag from her shoulder as she opened the door. 

“What the hell?”

Shang Qinghua was sitting at her desk, slumped forward and staring at her computer screen. No, judging by how badly she startled at the sound of Yuka’s voice, she’d clearly been asleep. She half-jumped out of her chair and nearly slipped to the ground, eyes wild, as Yuka stared.

In the end, Shang Qinghua banged her knee on the underside of the desk and let out a strangled, “Yuka!”

“Did you _sleep_ here?”

“No! I mean—I guess a little bit…” Shang Qinghua rubbed at her face blearily. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and she looked like she’d been recently sick. Yuka eyed her with great suspicion as she edged her way into the office.

“How long have you been here?”

“Uhh…I dunno, what time is it? I got here around…six? I think?” 

Shang Qinghua pulled a piece of hair that had gotten stuck in her mouth. She looked alarmingly like shit. Yuka opened her mouth to say something scathing, then stepped back, clapping a hand over her face.

“What is that _smell?_ ”

“Please don’t ask,” Shang Qinghua said miserably, burying her face in her hands. She let out a horrible little keening noise that made Yuka think of a puppy being slowly stepped on, and Yuka dropped her bag on the desk just so she’d stop making it.

“You know what, I don’t really want to know. What have you been doing all morning?”

“Please don’t ask,” Shang Qinghua repeated, this time in a smaller voice, her shoulders slumping. Yuka mouthed _what the fuck_ , mostly to herself, and moved around the side of the desk. Shang Qinghua made a feeble attempt at covering the monitor with her hands, but Yuka slapped them away and kicked Shang Qinghua’s chair, sending her rolling a few feet away.

After starting concertedly at spreadsheets for a minute, Yuka said, “What is this?”

Shang Qinghua peeked through her fingers. Her voice came out a pathetic mumble. “Finances.”

“No shit. Why are so many of these red?”

“Please don’t—” Shang Qinghua started, but Yuka cut her off with a glare, and she shrank back in her chair. “I’m working on it, I really am, okay! I just…didn’t really sleep last night and I guess I needed a nap.”

Shang Qinghua dragged herself back to the desk. Yuka stepped back, let out a slow breath through her nose, and crossed her arms.

“What’s the bill situation like?”

Shang Qinghua flinched. Until now, Yuka had really kept her nose out of the financial end of things—that was Shang Qinghua’s burden, after all. But Shang Qinghua looked distinctly Not Okay, and Yuka had to know if she needed to freshen up her resume after all.

“Well, we can pay rent,” Shang Qinghua started, hesitantly counting out a finger. “And electric. And…water, if ticket sales this weekend are good enough.”

Yuka waited for her to continue, and when she didn’t, her eyes widened in incredulity.

“I’m sorry! I’m trying! There just aren’t any corners left to cut!” Shang Qinghua wailed, burying her face in her hands again. Yuka sat down in the chair opposite her, tented her fingers, and cut straight through Shang Qinghua’s umbrage with a single look.

“How long have you been supporting the Mile High Club with your own money?”

Shang Qinghua looked guilty, like she’d just been caught syphoning company funds instead of the exact opposite. “The previous owners really didn’t leave me with much, you know?”

It was kind of an evasive answer, but it was clear enough to Yuka. But before she could so much as react, let alone respond, Shang Qinghua suddenly burst into tears, her voice keening into a wail. 

“I’m sorry, okay! I really am! I’ve been doing my best here! But my apartment almost burned down last night, and half my stuff was destroyed and now I have to pay for the damages and all the rent I owe, and I’ve kind of already stopped taking a salary for the most part, and now my savings are gonna be totally drained and I’m out of money but I promise I’m working on it so please don’t quit or kill me or tell any of the other staff please okay!”

Yuka inched her chair away from her blotchy-faced weeping boss and narrowed her eyes. “So who are you going to lay off next?”

Shang Qinghua’s head jerked up. “What? No one! That’s the last thing I want to do! It was bad enough when I had to let half the staff go in the first place…”

“Because they threw stuff at you.”

“And because I don’t really want anyone to lose their jobs! Me included, yes, but I’m doing everything I can to make sure I don’t have to let go of anyone else!” Shang Qinghua rubbed her forehead, looking exhausted. “It’s not like I could run this place without you guys, anyway.”

“Glad we can agree on one point,” Yuka said joylessly. She didn’t look very reassured. She got to her feet, her expression shuttered. “But it sounds like it’s moot. Sounds like our luck’s finally run out along with the money.”

Shang Qinghua shook her head emphatically, then immediately regretted it, wincing.

“It’s not over yet, okay? Being late on a few bills isn’t going to shut us down. I have a side hustle! I can still help the live house out—this is just a setback!” Her look was pleading, pathetic and desperate as always. “I’ll be able to bring in more money soon, just to hold us over, and it won’t be forever! Things really are looking up with ticket sales lately. If we can keep that going, we’ll get ahead of this! I swear, I’ll find a way to make it work!”

Yuka fixed her with a pinning look, but after a moment she let out a sigh and turned to leave. Shang Qinghua, seized with anxiety, practically climbed over her desk. 

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Scouting,” Yuka said without turning around. “You want ticket sales, we need bands. I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

* * *

Uncharacteristically, Shang Qinghua spent almost the entire day shut in her office. Part of it was the heap of work she had to tackle, but she also didn’t want any of the other staff to see (or smell) her in this state. She was pretty sure Yuka wouldn’t say anything, but Shang Qinghua didn’t have her poker face. One look at her bloodshot, puffy eyes, and any one of them would know something was up.

First things first: she had to sort things out for Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky. She laughed hollowly to herself as she drafted a post. Side hustle, right. Ha ha. Did it even count as a side hustle if it wasn’t making her any money either? She’d have to suspend her Patreon for at least a month, which meant a sizable chunk of income gone. Her TuneCore downloads were up the last couple of days, probably thanks to Peerless Cucumber’s review, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

In the end, the post announcing her hiatus was equal parts pathetic apology, desperate begging for donations, and a promise to return as soon as possible. She’d really waffled on how to explain her situation to her fans. Maybe she should change the story to water damage? That’d definitely account for losing all her equipment. But no, a tragic fire that took a bunch of her personal belongings along with it would garner way more pity points. She edited a few details (faulty wiring!) and tried to keep it vague, just detailed enough to be compelling. After all, it wasn’t like she was making this stuff up! She really was in a bind! She just…couldn’t afford to have Shen Yuan connect the dots, at least not just yet. And Shen Yuan would almost _certainly_ have something to say about Airplane’s sudden hiatus.

Once that was done, Shang Qinghua did her best to shut it out of her mind and focus instead on the miserable task of accounting. She forwarded the overdue rent to her landlady, along with the preliminary costs for the damages—more would come, she was assured, as the damage to her apartment was assessed. Shang Qinghua’s stomach felt like it was trying to digest itself. This was, no doubt about it, going to suck her savings dry, and she wasn’t even totally sure she’d be able to pay all of it off. And then there was next month’s rent…

Ugh, enough personal finances! Not that the company accounts were looking any better. Shang Qinghua had glumly unticked all of the loan payments she’d planned to send out this month, carefully calculated with her expert corner cutting. Keeping the lights on and paying her staff were more important than appeasing the Mile High Club’s creditors in the short term, even if this wouldn’t be the first payment delinquency on some of these accounts…she’d make up for it later. With interest, of course.

Looking at her own salary, she heaved a sigh and slashed it down to what she’d need for the bare essentials: food and train fare. Rent and utilities…would be a problem for Future Shang Qinghua, once she solved the problem of resuming Airplane’s music career. That was still a blank space in her mind, and if she thought about it too hard, she nearly brought herself to tears. It wasn’t even just about the money—she’d never been in the position of not being able to make music. By the time she was done squaring things away, she realized she’d been clenching her jaw in a grimace for hours, and she had a killer headache. She finally got up and stretched, wincing as a few things popped loudly back into place, and realized belatedly that all she’d had today was coffee, water, and a sandwich from the convenience store around the corner. That was fine; once she finished up with work, she’d treat herself to…well, another convenience store sandwich, probably.

Her phone buzzed on the desk next to her. She’d turned off notifications for pretty much all social media and everything related to Airplane—she was not in the right emotional space to look at responses to her latest Patreon post—and since Shang Qinghua didn’t really have, you know, friends, her phone had been silent all day. 

It was a text from Marina, asking about last night’s show and apologizing for not being able to make it again—something she didn’t really need to apologize for, considering she was in the same line of work. If Shang Qinghua were her, she’d pass up any given Saturday at the Mile High Club for a Saturday night show at CiRCLE, even if she was working. Now _that_ place had some good vibes. To be honest, Shang Qinghua was surprised Marina kept texting her. She could easily have just deleted Shang Qinghua’s number off her phone after hooking her up with Afterglow, but while she was hardly blowing up Shang Qinghua’s phone, she’d sent her an encouraging message or check-up every couple of days. Mostly shop talk, but there was always a friendly tone to it. Shang Qinghua couldn’t tell if she was _trying_ to be friendly or if that was just how Marina was, but it was still nice! Marina had that sweet girl-next-door vibe down pat, and while she was several weight classes out of Shang Qinghua’s league, the idea of having her as a friend…Shang Qinghua wouldn’t turn that kind of support down!

Shang Qinghua almost wept. She was under no illusions—Marina was definitely not asking her on a date—but free dinner? She could skip the convenience store after all; she could wait until after work to eat, no problem! Ah, Marina, truly heaven-sent! As she collected a sheaf of papers to run through the copier, humming a little tune to herself, she resolved to treat Marina to dinner in the future as a show of gratitude. One day! One day…!

* * *

“Marina-san, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Shang Qinghua groaned, head in her hands. Marina patted her shoulder in a little there, there gesture and poured her another beer. Shang Qinghua should have been the one pouring, Marina was treating her, but the second Marina had asked how things were going at the Mile High Club, it all came tumbling out. “I told my staff it’d be fine, I don’t want them to know how bad it is, but the truth is, I don’t know how long I can get away with late payments on—on—everything!”

Marina waited patiently until she was done whining and made an encouraging gesture towards her beer. With a little sniffle, Shang Qinghua picked up her glass and took an obedient sip. Marina picked up a dumpling with her chopsticks and deposited it graciously on Shang Qinghua’s plate.

It turned out Marina’s favorite post-work haunt was a little late-night izakaya in Kabukicho operated by a lone cigarette-smoking woman in her sixties who looked like she’d never taken shit from anyone a single day in her life. Actually, if you kind of squinted, she and Yuka could almost be related…

“I’m sorry things have been so tough,” Marina said with genuine sympathy, her brow knit in a worried look. “I know you’ve been working so hard lately, too. I wish there was something more I could—Qinghua-san? W-why are you crying?”

“No one is ever this nice to me,” Shang Qinghua bawled, abandoning any pretense of dignity. It had been a really long day, okay! “My staff are all so mean—I mean I’m used to it, I know they care about work, and that’s all that really matters—but—but—Marina-san, you’re just so nice!”

She threw herself at Marina, whose smile was halfway to a wince but she put an arm around Shang Qinghua’s shoulders and gently patted her anyway. With her other hand, she fished a packet of tissues from her purse and offered it to Shang Qinghua, whose nose was starting to run. 

“You don’t have a lot of friends, do you?”

Ouch! Forget what she said about nice, Marina really could go right for the jugular! But Marina backpedaled slightly at Shang Qinghua’s stricken look, smiling apologetically. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just—am I really the only person who’s nice to you?”

Shen Yuan was too distant to be called nice, and even if she was, it was kind of cancelled out by the Peerless Cucumber effect. Shang Qinghua blew her nose into the tissue and nodded. Marina let out a helpless little sigh that sounded a bit like a laugh. 

“That’s really a shame. Everyone needs a little support now and then, especially when the going gets rough. And in this business, you really do need a friend to listen to you—one who knows what it’s like.”

Shang Qinghua looked at her with watery eyes, sniffling. “Wait…are we friends?”

Marina let out a laugh. “Of course! Us live house girls have to stick together, right? Besides, you, ah, clearly need a friend right now.”

Big, fat tears welled up in Shang Qinghua’s eyes again. “Marina-san,” she wailed, her voice creaking as she pitched toward Marina again. This time, Marina held her at length with a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into an upright position. Shang Qinghua hiccuped and blew her nose again.

“Now, now, you have to pull yourself out of this gloomy mood or nothing’s going to change! Starting with a decent meal, because you look like you haven’t had one all day. Go on, eat, eat!”

Shang Qinghua fell upon the food with vicious hunger. First with Marina’s proffered dumpling, then onto the heaping plate of fresh yakisoba in front of her. Nor was the beer neglected, and Marina, a true pal, kept it coming.

“You know…it’s a little ways off still, but there is something that might give the Mile High Club a boost.”

Shang Qinghua’s head jerked up, staring entreatingly at Marina with a mouthful of noodles. Yes, yes, go on! Don’t just leave her hanging here!

“Have you heard of the Rocking Star Festival?”

Shang Qinghua shook her head.

“Hm, that doesn’t really surprise me…I don’t think the Mile High Club has ever participated. I’m not sure why, though.”

Shang Qinghua quickly swallowed, nearly choking. Get to the point, please! “What is it?”

“It’s a big event for live houses to promote themselves,” Marina said brightly. “Sort of like an industry convention. It’s not just for live house staff, either—plenty of bands show up to check out what the scene has to offer.”

“Wait, so bands basically show up to scout live houses to perform at?” Shang Qinghua rubbed her hands together. “That…that could really bring in some money, yeah! We might even get bands requesting to audition!”

“That’s not all, either. Participating live houses can set up booths to sell merch. People can come up and ask you questions, pick up flyers for upcoming events—and lots of them will buy branded merch, especially if you get a popular band’s logo on there!”

Shang Qinghua thought that the idea that any popular band would want to lend their brand to the Mile High Club was laughable, but even their own branded merchandise was still a good way to bring in some extra revenue. And the exposure alone…there’d be a fee to have a booth there, no doubt, but this could be the chance they really needed to show everyone their new image! They didn’t have much name recognition, and where they did, it was…a less than stellar association, but the Rocking Star Festival could change that!

Shang Qinghua was clenching her hands into fists, her eyes filled with new light. “Shit, yes! Where do I sign up?”

“That’s the thing.” Marina sighed. “The Rocking Star Festival is still a couple of months away. I know you have the short term to worry about, but…I still think it would be a good goal! And that means you have plenty of time to prepare, too!”

“What’s there to prepare for?” Shang Qinghua threw her hands up. “Print some new merch and signage, throw together a booth—it’s not like we’re going to redesign our logo or anything, like we could afford to, haha…”

“Merch isn’t all there is to Rocking Star,” Marina said, shaking her head. “There’s a center stage featuring live performances pretty much all day. Any live house that participates can choose a band to represent them and play at the festival. And what better way to advertise your live house than to show off your talent?”

Hm…yeah, it would probably take a little time to convince any band worth their salt to represent the Mile High Club. Moon Dew was too new and unpolished, and Proud Immortal Demon Way…Luo Binghe was too unpredictable! Shang Qinghua couldn’t risk having a band back out last minute for something like this, or worse, quit right in the middle of a stage show. She must have looked a little miserable again, because Marina gave her another little pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t look so down! You still have plenty of time. I know you’ll find someone to represent the Mile High Club. And I know you’ll be able to hang in there until the festival.”

And when Marina said it, it really sounded possible! Shang Qinghua poked at her noodles with her chopsticks, her mouth wobbling between a frown and a smile. “Yeah…well, I’m trying, anyway. There’s…still some stuff I need to figure out, but if we can keep a full lineup every weekend…maybe we can do something to bring in more practice bookings, I guess I could hand out flyers…”

Yeah, she could do that! Plus, there was always social media—maybe CiRCLE would even be willing to give them a signal boost. Maybe she could even convince the Proud Immortal Demon Way and Moon Dew kids to take some flyers to their schools, too. That probably wasn’t against any school rules, right? And was there any better way to advertise to her target demographic? She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that before! The Airplane problem was yet to be solved, but with Marina helping her make a game plan, the Mile High Club might be able to keep limping along just a little bit longer.

* * *

Not that it was really her first or most pressing problem, but Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but wonder when one, two, then several days passed without a peep about Airplane on Peerless Cucumber’s blog. It was true that she usually released tracks on Fridays, but there was no way Shen Yuan hadn’t seen her hiatus post! She was a top tier subscriber, after all. And she didn’t even necessarily _want_ a Peerless Cucumber post gloating about her hiatus. It wouldn’t really help her! It was just that she was dying to know what Shen Yuan thought about it, no big deal.

And since when did she care that much about Shen Yuan’s opinion! She didn’t, okay, she was just really curious, it was just the kind of thing you came to expect when someone writes about your music for years!

So when she emerged from her office to see Shen Yuan at one of the drink bar tables, frowning in deep concentration at her laptop, she really couldn’t help herself.

“Blogger’s block?” Shang Qinghua said, stopping at Shen Yuen’s table, but a brief glance at her screen revealed that she’d actually written quite a bit. Shang Qinghua didn’t get a chance to see what it was, though, because Shen Yuan immediately lowered her laptop screen with the tip of her closed fan, arching an eyebrow up at her. A very sus look indeed, but still too far off the himedere mark. Shang Qinghua wondered if Shen Yuan practiced that look in the mirror, and if she’d be open to criticisms of her moe appeal. 

“No,” she said primly with a little lift of her chin. “I’m just…editing.”

The pause was slightly too long for the answer to sound plausible. 

“Uh huh,” Shang Qinghua said. “So what are you editing?”

For a second, she thought Shen Yuan really didn’t answer; but then, with a sigh and a little toss of her hair she said, “If you _must_ know…”

Ah! Right there! 7 out of 10 himedere points! Keep it up, Shen Yuan!!

“That Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky just announced a hiatus out of _nowhere_. And just when she finally released something halfway decent.”

She made it sound like some whimsical decision. Uh, hello, her apartment nearly burned down! But…Shen Yuan didn’t sound smug or derisive like she was expecting. Shang Qinghua blinked at her.

“Wait, are you…disappointed?”

“Of course not,” Shen Yuan said brusquely, but she stiffened slightly, flicking her fan open. “I _am_ inconvenienced, because now I’ll have to find something new to fill out my Saturday reviews. _Why_ are you smiling?”

Shang Qinghua realized her inner amusement had escaped to run over her face, and she immediately stifled the smile. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just, you know, it seems kind of exhausting to bash— _criticize_ the same artist every week. I thought you’d appreciate the break or something.”

Who had the energy to be that mad online all the time, anyway?

Although she’d never put _too_ much stock in Peerless Cucumber’s relentless criticism, something about it felt different since she’d started spending time with Shen Yuan in person. Her vibe in person was almost entirely different from Shang Qinghua’s online impression of her; the horrible internet gremlin only seemed to come out sparingly, peeking around from the corners and through cracks. Shang Qinghua found herself wanting to get Shen Yuan drunk again. That wasn’t weird of her, okay, it was just so hard to believe that she was really this cool and dignified all the time!

But Shen Yuan’s eyes darted to the side, her brows drawing down. “Like I’ve said before—my readers have certain expectations. It’s not like my Airplane reviews aren’t popular. I can’t let all my devoted readers down so suddenly.”

Who’s the one really letting their fans down here!

“So much for that Vocaloid concept album,” Shen Yuan went on, lowering her fan. Her lips were pinched in a displeased expression, but distant enough for plausible deniability against disappointment. “I suppose it’s never happening now. It’s a shame. That was the one thing of hers I was actually looking forward to.”

“You don’t know that,” Shang Qinghua blurted out. Her mouth kept on running itself, just beyond her reach. “I mean, it’s a hiatus, it’s not like she’s quitting music forever! I’m sure she’ll come back, and she’ll definitely finish that album!”

Shen Yuan gave her a peculiar look, and Shang Qinghua immediately wanted to punch herself in the face. How many shots was she going to fire into her own foot here?! The owner of the Mile High Club wasn’t an Airplane devotee, she barely knew who Airplane was, as far as Shen Yuan was concerned! Besides, talking about her own music with Shen Yuan while pretending to be a stranger to it made her brain crawl, why was she continuing the conversation! She! Needed! To! Shut! Up!

Shang Qinghua was starting to wonder if she might be developing some masochistic tendencies.

“You seem awfully sure,” Shen Yuan said, watching her with a curious look. Shang Qinghua cringed inwardly. Where was Yuka when she needed a good slap? 

“Well—y’know,” she said, floundering, and said the first stupid bullshit that came to mind. “I work with musicians all day, right? People who spend that much time making music, they don’t tend to just drop their passions like that. But it’s not like I know anything about Airplane’s situation, so I’m really just talking out of my—”

“There was a fire in her apartment,” Shen Yuan said tersely, snapping her fan shut just as Shang Qinghua was trying to back out of the conversation. “ _Supposedly_.”

A bit of indignation rose up in Shang Qinghua at the implication that Airplane had lied—or was this an attempt to draw her out into admitting more than she claimed to know? Shit, was Shen Yuan really onto her? She resisted taking the bait and wondered if Shen Yuan would be super offended if she just turned and walked out the door right now.

“I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say about it,” Shen Yuan sighed, touching the tip of her fan to her forehead. As though blogging were some heavenly burden laid upon her shoulders.

Shang Qinghua wanted to tell her to get over herself—did she really need to write anything at all? Don’t draw more attention to the worst part of her music career to date, okay! But what she said instead was, “I dunno, it looked like you wrote plenty about it already.”

The look Shen Yuan gave her was more withering than a glare, but on her mild, pale face, just a little pinch of her eyebrows lent her a severe expression. It was a scrutinizing look, the sort that made Shang Qinghua want to wriggle away and crawl under a rock, regardless of who it came from. Why was it extra effective when Shen Yuan did it?

“Did you ever get around to listening to that single?”

A question she could actually answer! But she would rather die! There was something incredibly tantalizing about these conversations with Shen Yuan about her music, as though Airplane really were a stranger to her, but it was the same appeal as watching a train wreck. The problem was, she was the one on the fucking train!

“Oh, uh, nope! Too busy with work. Got a live house to run and everything,” she said quickly, starting to edge away from the table. She needed to achieve escape velocity before Shen Yuan goaded her into saying something else stupidly revealing. Shen Yuan’s mouth pinched in apparent disappointment, and she glanced at her drink, opening her mouth. But before she could speak, Shang Qinghua held up the folders in her arms, stuffed with sheafs of paper, as though they might shield her from Shen Yuan’s next request. “Actually, gotta run it right now! Kinda on a tight schedule here! I’ve got a, uh, a thing to get to, so if you need anything just ask Yuka okay bye!”

Yuka would almost certainly be pissed later, but Shang Qinghua could endure the slapping. She just didn’t think she could endure another close call with Shen Yuan. She came way too close to outing herself just now!

Shang Qinghua fled the building.

* * *

“Thanks for letting me use your copier,” Shang Qinghua said to Marina, shuffling a stack of papers to feed into the machine in CiRCLE’s back office. “Nobody told me we were out of toner—did you know how expensive that stuff is? Seriously, I owe you my totally worthless life.”

“I seem to recall having heard that one before.” Marina’s eyes glinted with a smile. “Does that mean you owe me twice over?”

“Hm…I think it’s three times, if you count dinner? If you hadn’t treated me, there’s a nonzero chance I would have passed out in the middle of traffic on my way home.”

“Oh, so we’re counting dinner, too?”

Marina let out a light little laugh and Shang Qinghua grinned stupidly, shoving her hands in her pockets. Damn, was this what it was like to have real life friends as an adult? Or…or was this flirting??

Ah, no, of course not. Tsukishima Marina had standards.

The bell at the front door jingled distantly, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet in school uniform loafers. Alright, it was more like a thundering, and a rapidly approaching one.

“Marina-saaan!”

Marina turned towards the door to the lobby. “Ah, Kasumi-chan, I’ll be right—”

But a beige-uniformed blur was already hurtling in through the door, bouncing to a halt with a flash of violet eyes. “Marina-san! We completely forgot to reserve space in the studio today, but there should be a free space, right? We rushed over right after school!”

“Kasumi!”

The twintailed blonde huffing and puffing after her glared, her cheeks flushed red. Shang Qinghua registered their uniforms belatedly—uh, Hanasakigawa High School was kind of far to run the whole way, wasn’t it? That girl was fast! 

“Don’t go rushing off like an idiot as soon as the school bell goes off, you’re impossible to keep up with! And don’t say _we_ when _you’re_ the one who forgot to make the reservation!”

“Ahaha, Arisa, don’t be so mean! Does it really matter? We’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Of course it matters! Marina-san didn’t even say whether or not we can actually practice here today!” Arisa seemed to have the soul of a born tsukkomi; all she was missing was the paper fan. But when she turned to Marina, she flipped the switch to manner mode, and gave her a polite and apologetic bow. “Aha…I’m sorry about that, Marina-san. You know how Kasumi gets…”

Marina hardly looked bothered; in fact, she looked cheered to see them. “Please, you don’t have to apologize! I always love your energy. Where’s the rest of the band?”

“On their way,” Arisa said, shooting a meaningful glance at Kasumi, who had the decency to look just a little sheepish. “We were supposed to stop at Saya’s for snacks first.”

She was being perfectly polite, but every word seemed to be a bullet directed at Kasumi. Kasumi threw her hands up, but she was clearly taking damage.

“Don’t look at me like that! I just wanted to make sure we got studio time!” All smiles now, Kasumi clapped her hands together as she turned to Marina. “So, Marina-san, how about it? Is there space for us to practice today?”

“Mm…sorry, but I think we might actually be full up today,” Marina said, shaking her head. “I can double check, but unless someone decides to pack up early, I don’t think there’s enough time to squeeze you in.”

Kasumi immediately deflated; Arisa’s inner tsukkomi immediately resurfaced, and she shook Kasumi by her strap of her guitar case. “We ran all the way here for nothing! Couldn’t you have called first like a sensible person?! Ugh, alright, I’ll text the others to let them know…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you get a reservation for your next rehearsal before you leave, okay?” Marina said to Kasumi, who heaved a sigh.

“I know, but I really wanted to play with everyone today!”

“Well, actually…” Marina cast a sidelong look at Shang Qinghua, who was only half-listening as she struggled to organize the fresh stack of copies into a neat pile. “I think I might have a—”

The stack in Shang Qinghua’s hands burst into a flurry of flyers that wafted to the ground around her. She held up her hands with a helpless smile of apology at Marina, who pressed a hand to her forehead with a small sigh. Shang Qinghua was just trying not to get any papercuts, okay!

But Kasumi was immediately distracted by the brightly colored flyers and stooped to pick one up, her eyes shining. “These are for…a concert this weekend?”

Arisa looked up from her phone and peered over Kasumi’s shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “The Mile High Club? Never heard of it.”

Maybe Shang Qinghua’s problem was that she spent too much time around teen girls and was getting too sensitive, because that kid Arisa could really deliver a cutting remark! And with such an otherwise innocuous statement!

“Aha, yeah, well, we’re not really a big—”

“That’s because they’re just starting to make a name for themselves,” Marina said, with a helpful little wink at Shang Qinghua, who was starting to collect the scattered flyers from the floor. “They’ve got a lot of promising talent on their stage. I’m sure you’ll be hearing the name a lot in the future.”

“Arisa, look! Hello, Happy World! is playing there this weekend! We should go see them and say hi to Kokoron and the band!” Kasumi held the flyer in both hands as though it were an invitation to a fantastical ball and turned her shining eyes on Shang Qinghua. This girl was practically bursting at the seams with enthusiasm! Kind of a dummy, but a lovable one. Shang Qinghua thought it was charming. “Aah, I wanna play there too! Arisa, we should play a show at the Mile High Club! It looks so fun!”

“Don’t be an idiot! You can’t just decide you’re going to play somewhere without consulting anyone! At least introduce yourself properly first!” Arisa quickly inclined her head towards Shang Qinghua. “Ahaha, sorry, she can get pretty carried away sometimes…”

“You’re right, Arisa! I should introduce myself!” Kasumi beamed at Shang Qinghua. It was like being hit by a ray gun of adorable high school girl charm. “I’m Toyama Kasumi of Poppin’Party! I sing and play guitar, and I’m always searching for the perfect heart-pounding, sparkling sound!”

It was a perfectly shoujo manga-like self-introduction. And if Shang Qinghua was honest, she thought Kasumi’s enthusiasm reminded her a little of herself during her own school days. Shang Qinghua had definitely not been that cute—not in high school, not in college, and definitely not now—but that right there was a real passion for music. And that was where Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky had started: with a passion.

More than that, though…Shang Qinghua had actually heard of Poppin’Party, and they had a real reputation!

Strictly local, but they’d made a name for themselves in the Tokyo scene with their sheer enthusiasm. Unlike many girl bands in the scene, Poppin’Party didn’t seem focused on making it big or signing with a label or anything like that. From what Shang Qinghua gathered, they just…really liked to play. And they’d gotten pretty good since their formation, too! They played live shows on the regular, and Shang Qinghua had seen their names on local festival lineups more than once. They were known primarily for their lively performances and a solid discography full of heart. If Kasumi was any example to go by, they played music for music’s sake.

Shang Qinghua stood straight up and took Kasumi’s hands in her own, her gaze intent. “You can play on my stage any time you want.” She coughed at Marina’s look. “I mean, not this weekend, we obviously have a full lineup—”

“What she means to say is that the Mile High Club is holding auditions for any bands interested in broadening their horizons,” Marina supplied. “Kasumi-chan, Arisa-chan, this is Shang Qinghua-san, the new owner of the Mile High Club, and I think she’d very much like to see you audition.”

Kasumi straightened herself into a passably respectful bow, Arisa hurrying to do the same with a collective murmur of _nice to meet you_ , although the look she directed at Shang Qinghua out of the corner of her eye was highly suspicious. It was okay; Shang Qinghua knew she didn’t really look like the owner of a respectable business. Arisa, however, was otherwise dutifully polite, and the two of them stooped to help Shang Qinghua pick up the rest of the flyers.

“Pretty much any time you’re free, we can probably fit you in,” Shang Qinghua said, trying to sound slick, but then, she probably shouldn’t have to try too hard to impress high schoolers. “And you should definitely come to the show this weekend—you know, to check things out…” Assuming that wouldn’t scare them away…but how often did you meet a band who wanted to play on your stage sight unseen? “And bring your friends! Especially if you have other friends who are also in bands!”

Kasumi had paused to inspect the flyer again, her eyes practically sparkling. “Arisa, look at these other bands! Proud Immortal Demon Way…I’ve never heard of them before. They sound so cool!”

“If you’re in middle school,” Arisa muttered, under her breath, but Shang Qinghua could still hear her. She schooled her expression into neutrality. It was a cool name for a band, okay! “Isn’t that the band Afterglow played with recently? I guess it’s worth checking out, if the others are free too…”

“Can we take some of these to hang up at school?” Kasumi asked eagerly. Shang Qinghua was a little bowled over. She hadn’t even started working up to that, yet here Kasumi was, doing all the hard work for her!

“Yes! Absolutely!” Shang Qinghua failed to control her own desperate enthusiasm. And then, picking up where Marina had left off: “And, you know, if you guys need a place to practice today, we’ve got a free studio over at the Mile High Club…”

“Really?” Kasumi looked over the moon. Shang Qinghua’s heart warmed a little. It wasn’t why she was doing this in the first place, but seeing that enthusiasm burst from all the musicians who came her way really did kind of make her day. “That would be amazing! Arisa, let’s go!”

“Stop!” Arisa’s hand came down in a chop on Kasumi’s shoulder. “We don’t even know where it is or how long it takes to get there! Don’t just decide to run off wherever you want without checking first! Besides, the others are still at the shopping district!”

“Oh, it’s only a few stops away from here,” Marina said quickly as Shang Qinghua finished collecting the scattered flyers. “It probably wouldn’t take the others too long to meet you there, either. Shang-san is heading back as soon as she’s done making these copies—she can show you the way. Right?”

Marina was a true wingman! Shang Qinghua wept in her heart out of sheer gratitude. She would definitely treat Marina as soon as she could afford more than ramen for dinner…!

Shang Qinghua nodded in emphatic agreement, but Arisa wasn’t totally sold. Her eyes darted toward Kasumi and, offering a polite smile to Shang Qinghua and Marina, said through her teeth, “Kasumi, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Without waiting for a response, Arisa dragged Kasumi back out into the lobby. “Arisa, oww,” Kasumi whined, shaking her hand out. “Be careful, that’s my strumming hand!”

“Can you consult other people about your plans for two seconds before you go barging on ahead?” Arisa hissed. “I haven’t even finished texting the others to tell them practice at CiRCLE is a bust!”

“So?” Kasumi said brightly. “That’s a good thing! You can just tell them we’re practicing somewhere else today instead.”

“Kasumi! Use your two brain cells for once, okay!” Arisa didn’t turn back towards the office, but the flick of her gaze and slight jerk of her head was meaningful enough. “Does that person _really_ seem like someone we should be following onto a train to a secondary location?”

“Whaaat? But Shang-san seems so nice! And Marina-san wouldn’t introduce us to any bad people, right?”

“Yeah, I thought she had better taste,” Arisa muttered darkly. “Wake up, Kasumi. Doesn’t something about her seem kind of off? I mean, didn’t you notice she smells kind of…weird?”

“We can hear you, you know,” Shang Qinghua called helpfully, sighing inwardly. Sure enough, just one wash wasn’t enough to get the smell of smoke out. Arisa stiffened, her face turning red, and when she turned around it was with that polite smile plastered back on her face. 

“Ahaha—I’m sorry, I—”

“Arisaaaa.” Kasumi pawed at Arisa’s sleeve, her expression tearful. “Why shouldn’t we go to the Mile High Club? I really wanna practice with everyone today! I thought you did too. You even talked about how much you were looking forward to working on our new song at lunch today…”

Arisa’s face flushed darker and she sputtered, trying to shake Kasumi away. “O-okay! Okay! Fine, we can go! The others probably won’t mind anyway…”

Aha! So the tsukkomi was really the tsundere!

Kasumi’s face immediately broke out into a gleeful smile, and she threw her arms around Arisa in an inescapable hug. “Yesss! You’re the best, Arisa!”

“A-augh! Enough with the hugging, let me go!!”

Marina hid a laugh behind her hand, watching them. “Those two are always like this. It makes you feel nostalgic, doesn’t it?”

Shang Qinghua nodded in agreement, because one thing was for sure: she really respected how Kasumi used her relentless enthusiasm to wear her friends down until they went with what she wanted. You’ll definitely get far in life just being that cute and that persistent, Toyama Kasumi! Shang Qinghua felt immensely cheered just watching them.

“Well, I’ve still got some copies to make, so there’s time to let your friends know,” she said before Arisa could change her mind. Arisa seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead looked down at her phone with an air of resignation and started texting.

A short while later, Poppin’Party’s vocalist and keyboardist were helping Shang Qinghua carry the reams of flyers back to the Mile High Club. Marina had volunteered them for the task, which Kasumi had undertaken with enthusiasm, and Arisa without complaint. But the entire train ride, Shang Qinghua could feel Arisa giving her a suspicious look at her whenever her back was turned.

The rest of [Poppin’Party](https://i.imgur.com/uukA8bZ.png) arrived shortly afterward, and all together, they made a pretty cute five-piece band. Watching them greet each other with such sincere enthusiasm, even though they’d only just parted from school, made it clear to Shang Qinghua without even hearing them play that _this_ was what made them so captivating. If even a tenth of that warmth and friendship bled into their music, it’d be enough to move any audience. Ah, it really was kind of nostalgic. Shang Qinghua hadn’t actually really had any close friends in high school, but everyone was familiar with this kind of “springtime of youth” trope, where their friendship is all in perfect harmony; no matter what divides them, they always come together in the end; the most compelling emotional drama mostly came from miscommunications or just feeling too passionately, and so on, that sort of thing. Truthfully, in fiction it could get kind of boring, but it was really gratifying to see it in real life!

“Saya!” Kasumi hopped over towards a girl holding a large paper bag that smelled _very_ good. The smell of fresh bread was filling the lobby, reminding Shang Qinghua and her gurgling stomach that she hadn’t eaten anything besides a bowl of butter rice today. “You brought the goods!”

“Well, we can’t have anyone going hungry during rehearsal. Oh—” Saya hesitated, then looked at Shang Qinghua. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask—is it okay if we eat in the studio, or should we eat out here first?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s totally fine.” Shang Qinghua’s eyes were fixed on the bag. “Is that…from Yamabuki Bakery?”

“It is!” Kasumi chimed in before Saya could answer. “Actually, Saya’s family owns the bakery, and she helps out there all the time! Right, Saya?”

Saya’s smile was self-effacing. “Well, of course. My parents can always use an extra hand in the kitchen.”

Shang Qinghua put a hand to her mouth, worried she might be drooling. She was _really_ hungry, but also, Yamabuki Bakery was pretty much the best in this part of town! Their most popular items would sell out before lunchtime, and it was in the opposite direction from her apartment to the live house, which meant that Shang Qinghua had never managed to get a taste of their near-legendary curry buns. Their regular bread was also really good, don’t get her wrong, but it was important to have dreams, especially achievable ones, okay!

Maybe Saya heard the loud growling of Shang Qinghua’s stomach, because she said, “I actually have a few extras. Can I give them to you? It’s the least we can do, letting us borrow your studio so last minute.”

“Yes! I mean, uh—thank you!” Score! She’d have a little something to go with ramen for dinner, and if she was lucky, she’d have some left over for breakfast too!

Fortune was not so kind to her as to grant her curry buns, but there was a small assortment of breads and a few cream buns, too. Shang Qinghua returned to her office with her small bounty of bread, her mood soaring. She left the door slightly ajar in case Yuka called (yelled) for her and set to work, indulging in a bun to placate her angry stomach. With the flyers for this weekend ready to go, Shang Qinghua put in her headphones, queued up some of Poppin’Party’s music, and dove into logistics hell to sort out the finer details for Saturday’s show.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the sharp rapping on her door until the second round. Without looking up, she called, “Sure, yeah, come in.”

She wasn’t really paying attention—it was probably Shen Yuan here for someone to soundboard her blog posts or whatever—until she registered, belatedly, the sharp click of heels across the undecorated cement floor. When she jerked her head up to look, there was already a woman standing before her desk in a trim navy suit that probably cost more than the Mile High Club’s yearly gross revenue. And she was _tall_ —Shang Qinghua had to look up and up until she was practically craning her neck.

Why was she surrounded exclusively by tall women?!

The woman’s appearance was crisp and impeccable, her sharp blue eyes unobscured, and the look she directed down her long, straight nose was cold enough to send an involuntary chill down Shang Qinghua’s spine. Taking this woman to be one of the suits who did the work of making the whims of Hello, Happy World!’s vocalist come true, Shang Qinghua jumped to her feet. “Ah, ah, hold on—I got the email! I’ll make sure about the jellybeans! I just didn’t get around to…replying…yet…”

She trailed off under the immense severity of the woman’s gaze, though in actuality all she did was lower her eyebrows and narrow her eyes slightly. She clearly had no idea what Shang Qinghua was talking about, but her expression wasn’t one of confusion; she was just impatiently waiting for Shang Qinghua to shut the fuck up. Shang Qinghua quailed back into her seat, realizing that, ah, no, whoever this person was, she was definitely _not_ affiliated with a band whose catchphrase was “Happy! Lucky! Smile! Yay!”

“Are you Shang Qinghua?”

“Yes, ma’am!” Shang Qinghua stammered out automatically. She felt compelled to jump back to her feet despite having just sat back down, giving off the impression of an awkward human jack-in-the-box. She realized she had crumbs on her shirt and hurriedly brushed them off, trying to pass it off as a totally smooth straightening of her shirt. “Ah, ha, what can I do for you, um…?”

The woman held out her business card almost negligently, but she was standing too far away, forcing Shang Qinghua to creep out from her hiding place behind the desk. She carefully took the card in both hands, her palms suddenly sweaty.

“Linguang Jun,” said the woman crisply, “of Northern Holdings.”

Shang Qinghua’s face went paper white. She stared down at the business card, her stomach beginning to churn. After all the time she spent poring over spreadsheets and ledgers, there was no way she wouldn’t recognize the name of that company.

Northern Holdings was only the Mile High Club’s biggest creditor!

For all that Shang Qinghua had nightmares about debt collectors knocking down her door, she hadn’t expected it to really happen. Nor did she think it would be a tall knockout beauty who absolutely screamed “ice queen”! Oh god, was she going to beat Shang Qinghua up for money? Sure, she’d like to be stepped on by someone in those heels, but not in this context! Findom really wasn’t her thing!

Hold up. Shang Qinghua looked over the business card again. Linguang Jun didn’t just work for Northern Holdings, she was…the CEO?!

What! The! Fuck!

Watching her face turn a whole palette of colors, Linguang Jun smiled, and Shang Qinghua’s stomach ran cold. On anyone else it would have been a warm smile, even reassuring, but on Linguang Jun, it just made Shang Qighua’s skin crawl.

Shang Qinghua wanted to discreetly wipe her sweaty palms on her pants, but she was still holding the stupid business card. Her wallet wasn’t on her; she had nowhere to put it. And while she would never claim to be a paragon of social grace, she definitely wasn’t stupid enough to just toss it aside right in front of Linguang Jun! She had already lost enough face before they’d even met, she didn’t have a lot to spare!

She cleared her throat, her mouth dry. “Aha, um, so, what can I do for you?” she said, then realized she’d just repeated herself. Well, she wouldn’t have to do if Linguang Jun did a little more than just stand there and loom!

“I came to discuss your accounts, of course,” Linguang Jun said, her voice as smooth as an oil slick. Shang Qinghua, already rooted to the spot, froze entirely. What kind of CEO took the time to personally knock down the doors of their lowly delinquent accounts? Was this some kind of sick prank? Was she being punked? But no, up close, it was clear that that suit really had to be bespoke, and whether or not she really was the CEO of Northern Holdings, Linguang Jun definitely had money. Shang Qinghua swallowed with difficulty.

“Ah, yeah—about that—I know I’m a few days behind on my payment this month, but I thought there was, like, a grace period…” She trailed off weakly. “Okay, I was a few days late last month too, but this is the first time anyone’s, um, actually—”

“Shang Qinghua-san,” Linguang Jun interrupted smoothly, still smiling, “this isn’t just about one or two late payments. You are in fact delinquent on a number of your accounts. Your business…” She swept a glance around the room without moving her head, one corner of her mouth tugging down. “Seems to be in very bad shape.”

No shit, lady! Shang Qinghua tried to cut off the inward scream that threatened to drown out all other thoughts in her brain.

“What do you mean, a number of accounts? I thought there was just the one bill I had to pay you guys—uh, Northern Holdings!” Shang Qinghua wanted to wring at her hair. “No one told me about any other accounts!”

“Ah.” Somehow, when Linguang Jun’s smile reached her eyes, it only had a more chilling effect. Shang Qinghua wanted to hide behind the business card still in her hands, but it was just so small. “That’s just what I came to discuss with you. Northern Holdings is now the sole possessor of the Mile High Club’s outstanding credit accounts.”

Shang Qinghua licked at dry lips. Even though in theory having fewer people she owed money to was a good thing, this…did not feel very comforting. A nasty feeling was starting to fester in the pit of her stomach. A smile of blind terror stole over her face, and she took an involuntary step backward.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some paperwork to back that up, would you? Because this is the first I—”

Linguang Jun’s smile only widened slightly, and she held up the very neat, very classy, and very expensive-looking leather bound briefcase that Shang Qinghua had thus far failed to notice. Taking the nervous jerk of Shang Qinghua’s head as permission, Linguang Jun set down the briefcase on the desk, opened it with a crisp snap, and withdrew an intimidatingly thick folio. Dismay emerged as the primary emotion from the knotted mess of anxiety in Shang Qinghua’s stomach. She didn’t exactly have her books in front of her for reference, but that…looked to be the right account information.

Feeling like a caged ferret, Shang Qinghua said, “Okay, so, the thing is, I don’t remember signing off on any—”

Linguang Jun let out a laugh—a real laugh, not faked, not even mirthless. On the contrary, she seemed to be tempering her own amusement.

“I don’t think you quite understand how this works. You owe—well, owed—quite a lot of money to a lot of people who, quite frankly, weren’t seeing much of a return on their investments. What they _want_ is to recoup their losses, not chase down delinquent debtors. Most businesses of the sort you owe money to would much rather offload their debts in exchange for even just part of the original balance. All that administration for collections can be quite costly, you see. Which is where we come in.”

Her smile showed teeth now. Shang Qinghua did not like it. The implications were starting to sink in, slow and stupid as molasses.

“Northern Holdings buys collection accounts?”

“Northern Holdings is a financial institution. We provide many services.”

Being in debt is not a service, okay! Granted, it was debt from loans, but—but— 

“I wasn’t even the owner of the Mile High Club until a few months ago,” Shang Qinghua protested. She quickly latched onto the bit to the tune of _it’s not my faaault_. “Yes, I haven’t been a hundred percent on my bills in that time, but—the previous owners put the business in this position! Can’t you, you know, pardon all the delinquent payments from when they were in charge?!”

Linguang Jun pursed her lips in a look of mocking pity. “I’m afraid it’s not your name on the accounts. It’s the Mile High Club’s. And the Mile High Club has a very poor history of making good on payments.”

Shang Qinghua began to scream internally. Linguang Jun took another single step towards her, her heels sharp on the concrete floor. Shang Qinghua wanted to throw the stupid business card into the air and bolt for the door.

Except Linguang Jun had closed the office door behind her!

Ahh, where was Yuka when Shang Qinghua needed her? There had to be some complaint, some detail Shang Qinghua was fucking up that she could come and yell at her for! Come on! Any minute now…! 

“Northern Holdings has taken the liberty of consolidating your accounts,” Linguang Jun went on. Her voice dropped into a croon that might have made Shang Qinghua indignant on another day. As it was, she felt cold down to her fingertips. “For your convenience, the balance on your outstanding accounts is now payable by a single monthly payment. No need to worry about keeping track of all those confusing accounts anymore.”

The implications reached the bottom of the molasses pool. Shang Qinghua felt sick.

Fuck!!!

The only reason she’d been semi-able to keep up on the bills was because she could split them into little payments, pay things off as the money came in! But owing a single large payment every month—she didn’t even want to contemplate the total—was really going to fuck with her ability to pay the bills!

Linguang Jun seemed able to sense Shang Qinghua’s deepening unease like a shark with blood in the water. Or she was just reading Shang Qinghua’s open-book face. With one long, slender finger, she flipped the folio to another page full of a truly headache-inducing numbers.

“The details of the consolidation and subsequent account formation are all here, of course, along with the new interest rates based on the appraisal of your accounts, capitalization policies, and so on.”

“New interest rates?” Shang Qinghua nearly choked on her tongue. Ha ha ha of fucking course. Linguang Jun dragged a perfectly French manicured fingernail down the page, stopping at a yellow-highlighted line item. Shang Qinghua was fluent enough in Accounting that just looking at it gave her chills.

“And here is your new monthly payment rate.”

Her finger tapped the section just below. Shang Qinghua nearly projectile vomited on sheer reflex.

She was so fucked! The Mile High Club was fucked! Hahahaha, it would’ve been funny if it weren’t so heart-stoppingly stressful. Shang Qinghua simultaneously wanted to get hammered, crawl into a hole and die, and find a way to induce herself into a coma. Any or all of the above would’ve been fine.

“And while I cannot reduce your monthly payments or renegotiate your interest rate, nor have your payments been consistent, I do acknowledge that you are not the one who plunged this company into debt.” She smiled again, and Shang Qinghua took another step back. Her lower back bumped against her desk. “So, as a gesture, I will waive late fees for your current payment up to an additional 10 days to the original net 30 agreement.”

What kind of a gesture was that?! Sure, maybe an extra ten days _might_ be enough to get the money together, but she was already late, so it was really more like seven days! Wouldn’t waiving this month’s payment have been a much better gesture?!

Linguang Jun took another step closer, her smile sharpening, blue eyes gleaming with a cold light. Shang Qinghua felt sweat gather under her collar, her face hot. Why did she have to be such a nervous sweater! 

“However,” Linguang Jun said, and Shang Qinghua, arched back over the desk, was really starting to feel like her personal space was being imposed on, “Northern Holdings is not a charity. If you can’t make good on this business’s debts, then we will repossess every one of the Mile High Club’s assets to cover the difference—” She looked around the dingy office, one corner of her lip curling slightly. “Or mitigate it, as the case may be.”

Shang Qinghua’s stomach churned. The question burned uncomfortably in her throat, emerging as a squeak. “And if that doesn’t cover the difference?”

Linguang Jun lingered for a moment, as though drinking in Shang Qinghua’s expression, and then she straightened, lightly tugging the lapel of her suit jacket. Not a hair was out of order. “Then we will seize your personal assets as well. Or you can file for bankruptcy, in which case the government would take possession of your assets instead.”

A rock and a hard place, right. More like a yawning abyss and a black hole! Sure, it wasn’t like she had a whole lot to seize, but that didn’t mean she wanted to part with her few meager luxuries! And rent, fuck, she still had to make rent…

Having two jobs yet your life is proceeding like you’re unemployed…it feels weird! Bad weird!

Linguang Jun looked like she was wrapping up her spiel. Shang Qinghua was running out of objections that might hold water. No, better to say she was already out of them, and didn’t really have any to begin with. So she fell back on a classic standby.

She threw herself to the ground at Linguang Jun’s feet, arms thrown around her ankles for good measure, and immediately began to beg.

“Please cut me just a little bit of a break! I know that I—I mean, the business doesn’t deserve it, but like you said, I’m not the one who put it in this position! I’m doing my best and I really don’t want to go totally broke or lose the live house but I _especially_ don’t want to go totally broke and lose all of my assets I mean I don’t even know what I have that qualifies as an asset but I promise I’m not slacking off on the payments because I want to so can you please maybe waive this month’s paym—”

She was just working herself into tears—real tears, these weren’t just theatrics, okay!—when Linguang Jun’s patience exhausted itself and she shook Shang Qinghua away. Well, she kind of lightly kicked Shang Qinghua in the head with the point of her shoe until she scrambled back with a muffled sniffle. Linguang Jun did not look particularly moved by Shang Qinghua’s plea—rather, she seemed more immediately concerned with the fact that Shang Qinghua had just left an unsightly faceprint on the otherwise shiny surface of one black patent leather shoe. She looked down at the rumpled mess of a person on the floor in a way that made Shang Qinghua feel like a tiny, insignificant bug about to be squashed under those very expensive shoes. But she did not kick or step on Shang Qinghua, only packed up her briefcase and smiled coldly with her eyes.

“Ten additional days,” she said. Seven days, Shang Qinghua wanted to scream! It really only amounted to seven days! “That’s the arrangement. Northern Holdings looks forward to working with you.”

And she left the office, Shang Qinghua still in a miserable heap on the floor. Linguang Jun at least had the consideration to close the door, although the muffled moan of despair was still perfectly audible on the other side. Linguang Jun paused in the lobby to check her makeup in her compact, correcting some imperceptible smudge along her lipline, then snapped it closed and strode out the front doors, the bell chiming after her.

Mobei Jun, standing in the doorway that led to the practice studios, watched the doors close after her, ice blue eyes blazing.

* * *

Mobei Jun took off her school shoes at the door and donned her house slippers before she ascended the stairs to the center wing of the house. The rest of the band was heading to one of the curry joints in the franchise owned by Sha Hualing’s family for a post-rehearsal refuel, but Mobei Jun had declined in favor of going straight home. She didn’t have much of an appetite for food or company. Luo Binghe, all hyped up on the adrenaline of a good practice session, had tried to insist she come along so they could keep talking about plans for their next show. Sha Hualing had tried to put her tiny foot down too, though for an entirely different reason: in all the times they’d gone to a Hell’s Bells Curry, no matter how spicy the dish, Mobei Jun had never so much as coughed, even when Sha Hualing secretly had her order switched out for something hotter. She was determined to make Mobei Jun crack today, and had been trying unsubtly all afternoon to prime her to order something extra spicy. So Mobei Jun deciding abruptly that she wouldn’t be joining them for dinner really shot a hole in Sha Hualing’s planned entertainment for the evening, and she pouted outrageously.

Six Balls, however, only nodded in understanding and produced from her jacket a bag of shrimp-flavored chips and a remarkably unsquished convenience store sandwich. She unzipped Mobei Jun’s bag and stuffed them inside with a thumbs up and a flash of a toothy smile. Mobei Jun accepted this with a nod, briefly placed a hand on Six Balls’s head, and then turned to leave.

Mobei Jun arrived in the kitchen and unslung her bass from her shoulder, leaning it up against the breakfast nook next to the barstool style seating. This was not her favorite kitchen in the vast estate—the breakfast nook remodel alone had made it feel dated just as soon as it was finished—though aesthetics were not her primary reason. It was the associations of the place that made her prefer to be elsewhere in the house most days.

Even so, there was a neat array of pre-prepared meals in the refrigerator, courtesy of the house staff, and it was well stocked with her preferred brands of beverages. Mobei Jun selected a can of sparkling juice and only briefly contemplated the containers of food before closing the fridge. She pulled the sandwich and bag of chips from her bag instead, laying them out on the table next to the juice. She had only just finished unwrapping the sandwich when she heard the distinctive click of heels on tile.

Mobei Jun didn’t stiffen. If she wanted to avoid her aunt, she wouldn’t have come to this part of the house. She didn’t speak first, and silently counted down the seconds. First her aunt would put on a display of concern under whatever immediate pretense was most convenient, then she would follow up with some criticism couched in the tones of _I’m only thinking of what’s best for you_ , and then change the subject before Mobei Jun had a chance to interject or speak for herself. Concern, criticize, change the subject. That had always been Linguang Jun’s strategy.

It had never worked on Mobei Jun. Not before her mother’s death, and certainly not now.

“Home already? I thought you’d be out all night with your friends again.” Linguang Jun’s voice was a parody of parental concern, down to the lurking implied _instead of doing your homework_. She frowned just slightly at Mobei Jun’s dinner, a little crease forming between her eyebrows. “Is that what you’re eating? There’s perfectly good food in the fridge—much better for you, too. Eating too much junk won’t do your health _or_ your skin any favors.”

Mobei Jun said nothing, only cracking open her can of juice. Linguang Jun’s gaze shifted to Mobei Jun’s bass, leaned up against the wall.

“I believe the rule is no instruments left out, is it not?”

Mobei Jun suppressed a scoff. She was seventeen already; the idea of Linguang Jun imposing arbitrary house rules on her just to gain a feeble sense of control over her was laughable. This house only belonged to her for a short time, yet she acted like she truly owned it. But what sickened Mobei Jun wasn’t Linguang Jun’s arrogance, but that false inflection of parental concern.

Instead she said neutrally, “I’ll put it away as soon as I’m done eating.”

Linguang Jun, as a general rule, did not pick petty fights, perhaps the only tactic of hers Mobei Jun held a modicum of respect for. If you let yourself be drawn into a trivial argument, you’ve already lost. She baited Mobei Jun frequently to try to lure her into falling just this trap; unfortunately, it worked on Mobei Jun no better than her other tactics, except in increasing her resentment towards her aunt.

This time, Mobei Jun didn’t wait for Linguang Jun to finish her usual playbook, cutting her off at the pass.

“What were you doing at the Mile High Club today?”

“I beg your pardon?”

It was difficult to tell how much of Linguang Jun’s air of taken-aback confusion was genuine. Not all of it, certainly. Linguang Jun leaned her hip against the kitchen island, touching a finger to her chin. Mobei Jun turned in her seat to fix her gaze on her aunt, one elbow braced on the table. Either Linguang Jun could answer, or she could leave the room; those were the only two outcomes Mobei Jun would allow for.

After a moment, Linguang Jun’s eyes widened as if in realization, and she breathed out a little laugh of no substance. “Oh, is that the place you and your friends like to go play your music? All of those clubs have such ridiculous names, I can hardly keep track of them. But now that you mention it, the name does sound familiar.”

Mobei Jun’s voice was flat. “You didn’t answer the question.”

Linguang Jun flapped a hand at her, manicured nails flashing under the low lights, then selected an apple from the fruit bowl on the island. The patchy red and pink glowed vibrant against her pale skin.

“Business, of course. Nothing to do with you.”

Mobei Jun’s gaze sharpened. Linguang Jun was only confirming her suspicions. She wanted very much to be wrong, but that was only wishful thinking.

“What kind of business?”

“Didn’t I just say? It’s nothing to do with you. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I have a right to know what’s happening with my business.”

Linguang Jun was inspecting the apple for any imperfections on its surface. She looked up at her niece, her eyes creasing slightly. It was a dangerous look, no trace of that parental pseudo warmth.

“It is the family business, not yours alone,” Linguang Jun said. “And you won’t come into your share until you’re of age. As long as you’re a minor, the business is, legally speaking, none of yours.”

What did she hope to accomplish with this kind of hot and cold tactic? It left Mobei Jun genuinely puzzled. Of course she’d see through any real attempts by Linguang Jun at attempting to be a substitute parent, but wouldn’t it be more to her advantage to at least try to groom Mobei Jun into a subordinate ally instead of driving a wedge further between them? Certainly Mobei Jun had never been particularly fond of her aunt before her mother’s death, but she might have been more pliant if Linguang Jun weren’t so transparently backhanded. Mobei Jun would not be dissuaded, trying to pin Linguang Jun with her gaze, but it was like fencing with water.

“Since when do you personally visit clients?” 

Linguang Jun reached up to pull her hair free of the tight updo she kept it in during business hours, carefully finger-combing out the braids so they wouldn’t tangle. It was her way of demonstrating that she was only half-listening, that whatever Mobei Jun had to say was of only trivial importance to her. If she was going to be so unsubtle, she might as well just pretend not to hear.

“It’s important to be hands on with your work, even at the executive level,” she said; then, as though she could not quite help herself, she smiled slightly. “And it was less trouble to bring the paperwork when I was in the neighborhood than putting it in the mail.”

There was no way that was even remotely true. In the neighborhood? Please. It was in an entirely different ward from the Northern Holdings main office. Mobei Jun’s eyes narrowed.

“What paperwork.”

“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Just some basic debt consolidation documentation. The owner is having such a hard time paying off all those loans, the poor thing.”

Linguang Jun selected a paring knife from the magnetic strip. It bit deep into the flesh of the apple, tiny bubbles of juice foaming at the cut. 

“Clever of the previous owners, finding so perfect a patsy for their debt. I doubt the Mile High Club will see the end of the year.” She cut a small chunk of apple, spearing it on the paring knife, and she was about to pop it into her mouth before she paused, turning a pitying smile on her niece. “Ah, but if it closes down, you and your little band won’t have anywhere else to play, would you? Truly a shame.”

Mobei Jun’s hand tightened around her can of juice. Linguang Jun bit off the piece of apple, clearly savoring it. On her way out of the room, she tossed the apple at the table like a scrap to a dog, the paring knife still stuck in it. Linguang Jun’s voice trailed behind her: “Do make sure you eat something healthy, won’t you?”

Mobei Jun eyed the apple with distaste. She pulled out the knife, set it down at the side of the sink, and sat down to open the bag of shrimp chips from Six Balls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so i lied there's ONE more adult
> 
> [poppin'party girls](https://i.imgur.com/uukA8bZ.png) for reference because we love a visual aid and an improbable number of people reading this fic seem to be canon blind to bang dream which, bless you for coming along for the ride and i hope you're enjoying the music emotions, there will be a lot of them


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mile High Club is in dire straits, but Shang Qinghua finally figures out how to make her comeback as Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky—she just has to make sure Shen Yuan doesn't connect the dots. Mobei Jun is warned against meddling in company affairs, but she's determined to find out what Linguang Jun's real angle is.
> 
> Six Balls just really wants to see how fancy Mobei Jun's toilets are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a little slow due to work reasons but here is a shiny new chapter for the new year, featuring more PIDW teens drama!

Shang Qinghua had existed mostly in a fog since Linguang Jun’s unannounced visit, crushed under the weight of a thousand debts. She still hadn’t solved the Airplane problem, couldn’t afford to take a salary, and also couldn’t afford to pay rent next month…and there was no way she was going to be able to make that loan repayment to Northern Holdings. Not on time, anyway. They might be able to make it up in ticket sales over the next couple of weeks, but then what about next month’s payment? They’d be perpetually behind at this rate, and how long could Shang Qinghua keep that up? The words _capitalized interest_ repeated themselves over and over in her nightmares, a hellscape of jeering spreadsheets dripping like Dalí clocks. And worst of all, during that unannounced meeting, Linguang Jun had deposited her briefcase onto the Yamabuki Bakery cream buns Shang Qinghua was saving for breakfast and squashed them beyond recovery.

She really had no fucking idea what she was going to do.

Shang Qinghua wasn’t sure if Yuka had even seen the very-out-of-place suit enter or exit the building, and subsequently was avoiding her. The thought of explaining their now even worse financial situation to her slap-happy manager was just too daunting to bear.

Even without the live house’s finances hanging over her head, there was no shortage of work to do in preparation for this weekend’s show. Shang Qinghua became increasingly scarce in the live house outside of her office, pasting on a probably unconvincing fake smile whenever she had to talk to one of her staff. She hadn’t answered a text from Marina in two days, and she’d barely poked her head out at Shen Yuan’s last visit. Shang Qinghua was too harried to notice the disappointed turn of Shen Yuan’s mouth when her magnanimous invitation to sit down and talk about her critiques with her was turned down with a strained smile and a hurried apology.

Getting into evening, though, Shang Qinghua was developing a crick in her neck from hunching over at her desk all day. She looked at her watch—the Mile High Club’s office was a depressing little windowless affair—and realized it was nearing on dinnertime. Her stomach gave an unhappy grunt, reminding her she hadn’t eaten lunch, either.

She jumped as someone kicked open the office door—Yuka dragging a dolly of equipment deemed as junk from their most recent inventory. It was the first time Yuka had actually seen her slippery boss in a couple of days, and while it would be a stretch to say that anyone _missed_ her, it was true that her absence had been felt during equipment strikes and the other job tasks Shang Qinghua was usually actually there for. Her initially negligent glance snagged on Shang Qinghua’s haggard face and she stopped, her brows drawing down.

“You look like shit.”

“I know,” Shang Qinghua said with a falsely cheerful smile. Her voice cracked, though, too tired to maintain the facade. Yuka’s eyes narrowed. 

“What the hell happened?”

“It’s just really hard to sleep in my apartment since the fire, okay?” Shang Qinghua let her voice wind up into a whine. She was too tired to keep up the pretense of Everything Is Fine. “Everything still smells weird and I keep having the same recurring nightmare about leaving the stove on.”

It wasn’t a _totally_ dishonest answer. Those were all true things. They just weren’t, probably, the things Yuka was actually asking about. Immediately put off by her whining, Yuka waved her off with a grimace. 

“Forget I asked. Studio B needs breaking down. And tell the kid with the sunglasses that if I find crumbs on the snare again, she’s banned from equipment rental.”

“We can’t afford to ban anyone,” Shang Qinghua said, pointing at the dolly full of junk equipment. Most of it had been unearthed in a back closet somewhere, half-rusted, dusted or otherwise nonfunctional. But some of it was recording equipment that had finally just aged out and given up the ghost. It was going to get harder to book recording studio rentals now that their last good mic had died out. Some of this stuff they were going to have to replace. Eventually. 

Yuka cast a puzzled glance at Shang Qinghua’s back as she went off to do as she was told without further whinge or worry, then noticed the plain black T-shirt she was wearing not only had a few holes along the hem, it was also inside out. Yuka rolled her eyes. 

“What a fucking mess,” she said, and started unloading the dolly.

* * *

Shang Qinghua gave Six Balls a halfhearted lecture about containing her food in the practice studio, although it was less a lecture and more a warning that it was only going to piss off the grumpy manager, and then sent the teens packing while she finished cleanup. She fished a broom and dustpan from the supply closet and set to sweeping up the snack mess.

She’d only been at it for a few minutes before the studio door opened again. Shang Qinghua looked up from where she was crouching over the dustpan to see Mobei Jun. She looked…displeased? How the fuck was Shang Qinghua supposed to tell, this teen had a better poker face than even Yuka! 

“Oh, uh—forget something?” she started to say, but Mobei Jun shut the door with such decisive firmness that she actually flinched back. It wasn’t like she slammed it, but she didn’t have to. Shang Qinghua wobbled but remained on her feet, but didn’t straighten up from her crouch. As a result, she was looking up at Mobei Jun a lot more than usual. She was going to pinch a nerve in her neck at this rate. It was only when Mobei Jun stepped forward that Shang Qinghua clocked that expression as _angry_ , and in an instinctive attempt at backing away, she toppled over onto the floor. The contents of the dustpan scattered once again in a flurry of crumbs. Shang Qinghua scrambled back as Mobei Jun took another step, hitting the wall. 

“You will not,” Mobei Jun said coldly, “under any circumstances, allow this live house to go under.”

Shang Qinghua, mouth already open and at the ready to protest, make excuses, or plea for her life, blinked. 

“How do—I mean, uh—you really don’t need to worry about—”

The last syllable escaped her mouth as a squeak and then died out as Mobei Jun’s face darkened. Fuck! What had she done to piss off the second scariest kid in Proud Immortal Demon Way?

“I know about the debt,” Mobei Jun said, and kept going even as Shang Qinghua opened her mouth to ask _how_. “I know that the Mile High Club is at risk of folding before the end of the year. You will not let it happen.”

You say that, but do you have any idea what it’s like to run a small business?! Shang Qinghua found herself suddenly sweating. What the hell! Didn’t this week throw her enough curveballs already? Where was Mobei Jun getting her information from, anyway?!

“I’m trying, okay?” The little outburst beat out any other, more dignified reply Shang Qinghua might have come up with. “But it’s really hard! I’m busting my ass pretty much nonstop to put together shows, and it’s like trying to swim out of quicksand! Trust me, I don’t want to close, okay? I was forced into this position anyhow, it’s really not my fault!”

Mobei Jun silenced her with a hard look. “Let me clarify,” she said, crossing her arms coolly. “ _I_ will make sure you do not let it happen.”

A chill shot straight up Shang Qinghua’s spine, and she couldn’t help but cower at the cruel irony of being put in the same position with one of her teenage patrons as the menacing CEO. She wanted to cry a little on the inside. What did Mobei Jun want from her? She was already doing her best!

Having said her piece and left her impression, Mobei Jun turned to leave. Shang Qinghua was halfway to groveling but caught herself, starting to push herself to her feet. “Hey—uh, does the rest of the band know?”

Mobei Jun stopped at the door. She thought of Luo Binghe and said, “No. And I won’t tell them.” She paused. “Your shirt is inside out.”

Shang Qinghua watched her leave, a confusing cocktail of relief and terror curdling in her stomach. What? The fuck??

“What the fuck?” Yuka said behind her. Shang Qinghua startled, her T-shirt halfway over her head. “What are you doing? Stop that.”

“My shirt’s inside out, I’m just fixing it!” Her voice was partially muffled. “Besides, what’s the big deal, we’re both—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Yuka said. Shang Qinghua had no other choice but to pull her shirt back down, still inside out. Yuka jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “What did little miss ice queen come back in here for? She said she forgot something, but I didn’t see her bring anything else back out with her.”

“Uh…” Shang Qinghua didn’t really want to say. It might tip Yuka off that there was something _really_ wrong. “She just wanted to thank me for always cleaning up after them. You know, Six Balls and her snacks and all.”

“We are banning eating in the studios,” Yuka said with a sharp jab of her finger into Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. Then her mouth flattened into a thin line. “Okay, so what did you say to _her?_ Because before she left just now, she paid up for their studio time for the next two months.”

Shang Qinghua blinked.

Mobei Jun had said she’d make sure Shang Qinghua didn’t let the live house fold. Was…that supposed to be a pledge of support and not a threat?

She was at an immediate loss as for how to feel about that. She gave Yuka a helpless shrug and a baffled look. Yuka, to her relief, just rolled her eyes and moved along to things that actually merited her attention, leaving Shang Qinghua alone in the studio.

Shang Qinghua finished sweeping up the mess and moved to put away the keyboard still left out. Meiyin was usually pretty good about making sure they cleaned up, but she’d been dealing with a Six Balls and Sha Hualing snack disaster double combo, and Shang Qinghua had told her it was fine, to just go on ahead. And actually, an excuse to linger in the still quiet of the practice studio was kind of nice.

Meiyin had once made a passing comment that her keyboard setup at home was a little barebones. With the way she managed the other members of the band and her general sisterly demeanor, Shang Qinghua had the impression that she came from a big family. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that her equipment rentals were usually on the more experimental side. The FM synthesizer she’d borrowed this time was a classic, perfect for experimenting with new sounds, and it was still on, preserving the presets she’d created during rehearsal. Shang Qinghua ran her fingers over the keys. Ah, so Meiyin favored that crisp, bell-like sound, reverb and just a touch of delay; Shang Qinghua had heard her use it in their last show. It really lent a nice gothic sort of tone to Proud Immortal Demon Way’s sound in combination with their distortion-heavy guitars.

She found herself fiddling with the operators, idly trying to see if she could recreate one of her favorite presets from one of her own instruments. Man, this equipment was way better than anything she’d ever personally owned, though. Even with her myriad if humble collection, she’d probably opt to rent something with a few more bells and whistles too, given the opportunity. It wasn’t just the instruments, either—while the Mile High Club might have been kind of ratty compared to its brethren, it still had professional mixing equipment, licenses for more DAW software and Vocaloid voicebanks than Shang Qinghua had ever dreamed of owning, an aging but otherwise pretty robust studio computer…

Shang Qinghua lifted her hands from the keyboard and slapped herself in the face five times.

She owned a venue with a recording studio! With all the gear anyone might need to make music! Except vocals, sure, and it was kind of small and smelled like aged cigarette smoke, yes, but it was otherwise totally functional!

So why had it only just occurred to her that she could actually use any of the Mile High Club’s equipment to make Airplane’s music?!

As a menial employee, free access to the studios had not been a perk of the job when she’d first started, and since assuming ownership, she’d been too busy with the hustle to really consider it. Her home studio had been perfectly adequate, after all. Plus, she’d been doing everything she could to keep her life as Airplane totally separate. None of her staff even knew she was a musician—not that any of them cared.

But this was different! It was becoming, kind of literally, a life or death situation—or at least an eat or starve situation, and Shang Qinghua really needed to get back on track with Airplane’s career. She’d already suspended her Patreon for the month, but that at least gave her time to build up some buffer material. Maybe she could even recreate some of the work she’d lost in the fire. And with all these Vocaloid voicebanks…Shang Qinghua’s eyes glazed over a little bit. She could totally render video on the studio computer. She could flesh out her concept album in ways she hadn’t even dreamed before!

To say that everything was coming up Airplane would really have been a stretch, but it was still an improvement. If nothing else, Shang Qinghua was going to get back to making music.

* * *

Saturday’s show, while not a sellout, went smoothly, even in spite of the fact that all three acts were new to the Mile High Club’s stage. This meant Shang Qinghua could spare herself some worrying and focus on what was really important right now: her own music.

She couldn’t do anything about the payment to Northern Holdings that they were absolutely not going to make even with Linguang Jun’s additional “grace period”. No amount of staring at spreadsheets was going to change that fact. But she _could_ stay in the studio until well after hours, pulling late nights that occasionally turned to very early morning starts at the office. Yuka’s only comment on the subject was that Shang Qinghua needed to take more showers, and if she wasn’t going to do the rest of them that courtesy, she shouldn’t bother coming in.

It was really starting to come together. Realizing the near-endless possibility of using studio gear to make Airplane’s music had imbued her with a new sense of hope and direction. She wasn’t eating or sleeping as much as she ought to, but that was fine; she was getting so much done! And thanks to Yuka’s assistance, they already had a lineup filled out for their next show, and while there was plenty of work to do to keep it up, it did ease some of the manic driving pressure Shang Qinghua had come to associate with prepping for shows. She felt like she’d plugged into a charger for her creative batteries. In reality, it had only been about a week or so since the fire, but it felt like an eternity when she thought she’d be on indefinite hiatus. She spun out a handful of mostly finished tracks, just lacking that final polish, and, even though she could only partly recreate her lost work, managed to come up with another half dozen or so sketches to flesh out. Another week, and she'd be able to announce to her fans the date of her planned return from hiatus. It was still going to be tight until then, and next month’s rent was still not a problem she had solved, but she was just going to take it one day at a time.

The future was looking a little less dim for the Mile High Club’s event calendar, too. Poppin’Party was scheduled for an audition this week, and they’d probably really draw a crowd when they played! It was a good opportunity to give the smaller and less experienced acts like Moon Dew another chance to play without worrying about them drawing in enough customers. Besides, Shang Qinghua thought that Poppin’Party might get along with those girls. It’d be kind of cute if they became friends. And that would build the live house’s reputation too, wouldn’t it? Becoming known as the kind of place where beautiful new friendships in music bud and bloom…anyone would kill for that kind of atmosphere!

And Proud Immortal Demon Way, a mascot band if the Mile High Club ever had one…well, they were coming along. Shang Qinghua was getting some tension vibes with Luo Binghe and Mobei Jun, and she’d noticed Luo Binghe’s absence from a few rehearsals. She wasn’t totally sure where that was coming from. Sure, things seemed a little off lately, and their sound still had that rough, uneven edge to it, but maybe they’d finally start to bloom, too.

Hey, at this rate, she might even manage to impress Marina, whenever she got around to coming to a show. She didn’t really feel the need, per se, Marina was already well aware of the kind of loser Shang Qinghua was. But it’d still be pretty neat. And maybe Peerless Cucumber would finally give them a review above room temperature.

The most devastating loss of her work in the fire was easily the material she’d been putting together for her concept album. She had a bunch of stuff saved to the cloud, sure, but it was like, lyrics and commission art and stuff! She couldn’t afford a subscription for enough storage space to keep her audio files and renders on the cloud, too. Some of that, too, she could recreate, but…it also presented an opportunity to start something fresh and new. Not that she was going to totally scrap the few notes and what she could remember enough to recreate, but the landscape of possibility had changed. With the Mile High Club’s resources at her disposal, she could diversify the voices for her characters pretty literally! And…the truth was, even though the Mile High Club had its own recording studio, some of the equipment was a little outdated, and the soundproofing could use some fixing up, and they were kind of missing a single good microphone…anyone with enough money to rent a recording space was going to go somewhere nicer. So this seemed like a fair trade off to Shang Qinghua: she wouldn’t take a salary, and she could monopolize the recording studio as much as she wanted.

Going home was depressing, or at the very least not very restful these days, and Shang Qinghua wound up spending most of her waking hours—and some of her sleeping hours—at the live house. There was just nothing comforting about a half-ruined apartment, especially the scorched area where her desk had been, and every time she passed one of her neighbors in the hall she could feel the dirty looks boring into her back. If she could afford to move somewhere else, believe her, she’d already be packing up!

It wasn’t as though the Mile High Club wasn’t an ambiently stressful place, but she was inured to it by now. She could function within it. And actually, all the studio time was making it _less_ of a stressful place, even if she needed to be sleeping more. After all, the live house was at its best when it was filled with music, and while Shang Qinghua wasn’t playing on stage (yet), she came to find something deeply satisfying about her time in the studio.

“Shang Qinghua?”

She immediately jerked out of her composing reverie, jostling her headphones off as she looked up. She hadn’t even noticed the studio door open, nor the pointed rapping of a fan on inside of it. Shen Yuan stood in the doorway, closed fan in hand, looking expectantly at her.

On instinct, Shang Qinghua immediately put her hands behind her back as though to hide them, although in actuality all she’d been doing was banging out some tunes on a keyboard. Shen Yuan lifted her eyebrows.

“Your manager said you were back here.”

“You were looking for me?” Shang Qinghua said, surprised. Shen Yuan spread her fan over her face, waving it slightly. 

“Well, you weren’t in your office like you usually are,” she said distantly. Shang Qinghua blinked. Could it be that…Shen Yuan actually wanted to hang out with her?

If she did, it was probably only so she could talk at Shang Qinghua about whatever blog post she was working on at the time. That seemed to be the primary subject of conversation with Shen Yuan whenever Shang Qinghua stopped to chat with (check on) her, or, as had become the case the last couple of times, when Shen Yuan called her over.

She’s already giving you free drinks, okay? Now you need to monopolize her time too? She’s obviously busy with work all of the time! Don’t be so entitled!!

Alright, so she didn’t look very busy right now. Before she could reply, Shen Yuan said with interest, “I didn’t know you played the keyboard.”

“Oh, well, piano, technically. I took lessons on and off growing up.” Shang Qinghua replied, to her own horror. She cursed her own traitorous mouth and furiously backpedaled. “But, uh—that was just when I was a kid, I haven’t touched a real piano in years, haha.” That was true, at least. “I’m not, like, a musician or anything…”

She wanted to slap herself in the face. Why didn’t she use the same “oh, I just dabble” line she’d used on Mobei Jun! It wasn’t like wanted Shen Yuan to think she was cool!

Unfortunately, her disclaimer had not dispelled the light of aloof interest in Shen Yuan’s eyes. “Play me what you were playing just now.”

Shang Qinghua winced, both because this was the last thing she wanted to do and because with that little demand—a normal person would have asked!—Shen Yuan had stuck the landing with the himedere vibe for once. The effect was tangible. Yes, yes, 10 out of 10, gold medal, now get lost and forget you ever saw her playing the keyboard!

She tried to stall. “Ah, haha, nah, I’m not really any good, and it’s just a sketch, not like, a completed piece or anything! Honestly it’d probably sound like garbage to, uh, such refined ears!”

“You’re playing something you wrote?”

Shang Qinghua bit her tongue, for real, on purpose. It fucking hurt, but maybe it’d stay in check now. Why would she say that! She’d had her headphones in, there was no way for Shen Yuan to know she was playing one of her own compositions! She could’ve just played the chords from one of any half a dozen pop songs she could remember off the top of her head and Shen Yuan would undoubtedly be left unimpressed by her lukewarm performance and lose all interest! Someone needed to take the shovel from her hands, she couldn’t stop digging her own fucking grave!

Shang Qinghua was still trying to come up with a negative description for her own music that wouldn’t be directly plagiarizing Peerless Cucumber when Shen Yuan pointed her fan at her. “I’d like to hear it. Go on, play.”

She really didn’t want to, though, is the thing!

But the weight of Shen Yuan’s expectant gaze bore down on her like the merciless rays of the sun, and while there were a whole host of things she could think of immediately that would get her out of this conversation immediately, there were none that wouldn’t put her relationship (the Mile High Club’s relationship) with Shen Yuan at risk. She did consider the merits of a bathroom emergency, but for once her stomach was behaving itself, and she was more concerned about ensuring the realism than she was about what Shen Yuan might think of her. But in the end, she decided to save the butt problems emergency excuse for the future, and unplugged the headphones in resignation.

She quietly flipped the preset back to the standard piano sound instead of one of Airplane’s more signature-sounding synths. With any luck, it’d sound different enough as a faux-piano piece that Shen Yuan wouldn’t recognize it.

She could have played anything, sure, but almost everything she had ready-to-hand was either something Shen Yuan would instantly recognize as an Airplane work or something she was planning on using in Airplane’s work very soon, and thus could not be played for Shen Yuan. All she was left with were the sketches she’d been working on for the concept album. And it was just a sketch, still—if she really had to scrap it, she would, but maybe she could make it just vague enough that Shen Yuan wouldn’t find it memorable.

It was barely a page’s worth of music, anyway. Shang Qinghua considered playing the piece out of time, but last-minute decided that the stiff tocking of a metronome would do better to obscure the feel of the music. She wiped her sweaty palms on the hem of her shirt as discreetly as she could. Haha, performance anxiety? From Shang Qinghua, who hadn’t attended a piano recital since she was nine? Likelier than you think.

It’s Peerless fucking Cucumber, she reminded herself as she set her fingers lightly down on the keys. It’s not like her opinion really matters that much!

The melody had a clear, almost somber quality to it when played with the standard piano sound as opposed to the reverb-heavy synth she’d been using to eke it out. Shang Qinghua had intended to play it badly—well, a little off, at least—but her fingers moved almost automatically in time with the metronome, the notes sounding out clean and bright. She winced to herself as she lifted off the last note, not because she’d butchered it, but because she’d just played it better in front of Shen Yuan than she had managed to all afternoon by herself.

It was because she’d been doing all that practice, obviously!

But it was still a pretty simple piece of music, unrefined, meant to be incorporated into some greater whole. Shang Qinghua cleared her throat, readying a pathetic little spiel about how she was merely a humble erstwhile pianist with no real talent to speak of dicking around when she looked up at the sound of a clap. 

Quietly but decisively, Shen Yuan was giving her just the tiniest bit of applause. Shang Qinghua suppressed a grimace. Of all times to break out the slow clap! She’d just played 30 seconds of music, it was barely worthy of a single clap! She would have sworn that Shen Yuan was just doing it to be a jerk, but…she was smiling?

It was just a little smile, more in the eyes than the mouth, but it was definitely a smile!

“Nicely done,” Shen Yuan said. “It’s succinct, but it has a lot of promise.”

Of course it’s succinct! It’s just a sketch! Shang Qinghua wanted to roll her eyes, but her ego was acutely honed to pick up on even the littlest scraps of praise, and absorbed it all hungrily, and instead she let out a moronic little laugh and said, “Ah, yeah?”

Shen Yuan tapped her chin with the tip of her closed fan, looking somewhat pleased. “It’s very melodious—it catches the ear, but there’s unresolved tension in it. It makes the listener curious to hear where it will go.”

The more time Shang Qinghua spent with Shen Yuan in person, the more it became clear to her that Shen Yuan wrote just like she spoke—or maybe it was the other way around, maybe she’d spent years practicing human speech with comment wars and blog posts before emerging from whatever basement she’d cocooned herself in as some kind of glamorous social butterfly. Either way, that review-like tone and wording had a peculiar effect on Shang Qinghua, the same shivering, brain-bending rush from when she’d listened to Shen Yuan talk about Airplane’s music to her face.

Fuck!

Of all the things Shang Qinghua was expecting, she really hadn’t expected Shen Yuan to like her music!

This was the same person who, week after week for years, had hounded her comments page and posted blogs dissecting her music and all the ways it was disappointing to her arcane standards. While she was a frequent flyer, yes, she was hardly Airplane’s only critic, and Shang Qinghua’s feelings about Peerless Cucumber’s blog posts could usually be described with one of the following emojis: 🙄 😆 🤨 🥱

And she had the face to stand there with that oh-so-cool and dignified air, pushing up her stupid hipster glasses, deigning to bequeath praise upon Shang Qinghua’s crown! If you’re really an expert on Airplane’s music, then shouldn’t you be able to recognize her composition style! Don’t you have any idea who you’re talking to, Earless Cucumber! 

But of course she didn’t, and Shang Qinghua needed it to stay that way, so she could only put on a self-effacing smile that she hoped looked suitably “embarrassed by praise” and say, “Aha, yeah, well, it’s not going anywhere. Like I said, I’m really not a musician, I just dabble, you know—”

Shen Yuan lifted an eyebrow. Ah, fuck, she’d used the “I just dabble” line too late. Now it just seemed like an attempt at modesty instead of a brush-off, and Shen Yuan’s interest only sharpened.

“You have a gift. You should nurture it—especially when you have the perfect incubator. You could become a part of Tokyo’s sound too.”

She regarded Shang Qinghua with a look of aloof interest. Shang Qinghua was beginning to feel like her ego was not actually the focal point of this conversation, although she was largely distracted by the recurring sense of cognitive dissonance that she was coming to associate with these conversations.

That’s exactly what she wants, okay! Stop making her spew out all this faux humble crap! The irony was too much. Shang Qinghua restrained the urge to smash her face onto the keyboard.

“Uh—sure, sure, maybe. I’ll think about it,” she said hastily, searching for a way to end this conversation as quickly as possible. “Anyway I was just about to pack it up, I’ve got a—a meeting, you know, business meeting, boring accounting stuff, haha, all those numbers, am I right? And you’ve probably got a blog post to write, yeah? So just ask Yuka if you need anything ‘cause I’ll be busy, you know, in my business meeting so I’ll catch you later okay bye!”

By the time Shang Qinghua finished speaking, she had already unplugged the keyboard, stuffed her notes under her arm, and fled the room. Shen Yuan watched her retreating back with mild bemusement, then touched her chin with a slight frown. Some people just didn’t recognize an opportunity even if it danced around naked in front of them.

* * *

“Momo, aren’t you gonna come get dinner with us?” Six Balls asked around the lollipop in her mouth, sticking her drumsticks in her bag. They’d had an extra long practice, and the snacks from Six Balls’s family convenience store had only gone so far. Now they were a collection of very hungry teens with a curry chain connection, and as long as Sha Hualing didn’t try to demand free meals out of any very confused and underpaid cashiers who didn’t know her by face, Hell’s Bells Curry would be their dinner destination.

In the early days when they first formed as a band, Sha Hualing had eagerly tried to establish her family’s restaurant chain as the ideal place for post-rehearsal review meetings. But the group’s tendency to escalate their volume during their impassioned moments, plus Six Balls’s compulsion to improvise a drum kit out of anything, had resulted in them being (politely) asked to leave on multiple occasions. Meiyin’s family, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind the noise at all—possibly because there were more people living in that sprawling old house than seemed probable, and they walked and talked over each other at almost all hours of the day—and if you didn’t mind the fact that the beauty parlor was run by a clan of fringe mystics who loved to dote on their guests, then you could play in their talisman-studded basement-slash-meditation room as much as you liked. Meiyin’s family, as she explained on their first visit to the beauty parlor, had a tendency to get a little noisy in their enthusiastic rituals, and the basement provided a convenient place to practice it where it wouldn’t bother their neighbors. Each of the girls in Proud Immortal Demon Way found the atmosphere at Meiyin’s place comforting in their own way. But Meiyin could tell that Sha Hualing was put out, a little slant of jealousy, so Meiyin had suggested that they meet at Hell’s Bells for dinner some of the time. They went to different schools for the most part and could use some time to socialize outside of practice, after all. And aside from Sha Hualing’s developing new hobby of bribing the servers to switch out Mobei Jun’s food, it worked out pretty well that way.

But Mobei Jun had turned to walk the opposite direction from the rest of the band. She paused, a hand on the strap of her bass case.

“Flyers for our next show,” she said. “I had copies made. I just need to stop at home to get them. I’ll meet you all at Meiyin’s later to hand them out.”

Sha Hualing pouted, preemptively defeated once again. She stamped a foot on the sidewalk. “No fair! You’ve been bailing out on us way more than usual lately. You totally have to hang out with us this time!”

Meiyin placed a hand on Sha Hualing’s shoulder. “You know, I think we can probably pass on a review meeting today. Why don’t we go with Mobei Jun so we can help her with the flyers, and then we can all get dinner together?”

“But I’m hungry _now_ ,” Sha Hualing whined. Six Balls produced a KitKat from somewhere in her jacket and held it out. Sha Hualing bit down on it with a muffled and sulky thanks. Meiyin smiled sweetly at Mobei Jun.

“We can either get dinner with Mobei Jun later, or get dinner without her now,” she said. “I think I’d much rather prefer her company myself. Besides, we probably shouldn’t let her haul all those flyers across town by herself, hm?”

Mobei Jun was just starting to say _it’s not necessary_ when Sha Hualing’s eyes lit up with renewed interest. “Hey, we’ve never actually been to Mobei Jun’s house before. Except for Binghe, right?”

Luo Binghe, leaning against a telephone pole with her arms crossed, cast a sidelong glance at Mobei Jun. “She lets me crash at her place sometimes when I don’t feel like going home.”

“Then it’s settled,” Sha Hualing said with a smug smile. “We’re stopping at Mobei Jun’s house before dinner!”

“Which train do we take to get to your place, Momo?” Six Balls asked immediately after, crunching on her lollipop. “What station’s in that direction? Don’t think I’ve ever gone that way before.”

Mobei Jun, who had opened her mouth to decline their company, wavered slightly. She wasn’t in the best of moods, and in those times, she tended to want to stay away from people until it passed. Not to mention, she preferred to keep Linguang Jun as far from her personal life as possible. But looking at her friends, who all looked eager to lend her a hand—even Luo Binghe didn’t look opposed to the idea—it might not be so bad to have them along as moral support. And they didn’t necessarily have to meet her aunt, either.

When they arrived at the gates, Sha Hualing’s mouth hung upon as they stared up the stone-paved walkway across the massive lawn that led to Mobei Jun’s house. Sha Hualing turned an incredulous look on her.

“What the fuck!” she sputtered. “I knew you had money, but you never told us you were _mansion with its own postal code_ rich!” 

She took off one shoe and thwapped Mobei Jun in the arm with it, but Mobei Jun caught her firmly by the wrist and wrenched it from her grip. Only after she had peeled Sha Hualing’s fingers away did she offer it back.

“It’s the family business,” Mobei Jun said blandly. They started up the steps, and then she stopped.

“You don’t have to come inside.” She gestured to a small collection of chairs around an umbrella-shaded table off to the side on the impeccable lawn. “Wait here. I’ll be back shortly.”

“I’ll go with you,” Luo Binghe volunteered, and it was clear from her tone that no would not be taken as an answer. Mobei Jun knew this was a gesture of support, and it was true that Luo Binghe knew the house and was the only member of Proud Immortal Demon Way to have met Linguang Jun. Mobei Jun was nodding in concession when Six Balls piped up.

“Me too,” she said, pulling the demolished lollipop stick from her mouth. “What if you tried to carry too many flyers and got a papercut? You wouldn’t be able to play. Besides, I wanna see how fancy your bathrooms are. I bet you have _super_ high tech toilets.”

Alright, well, if Six Balls needed to use the bathroom, Mobei Jun wasn’t quite cold enough to tell her to hold it. Meiyin patted Sha Hualing on the head and steered her over to the chairs.

“We’ll wait out here,” she said, just as Sha Hualing protested, “Totally unfair!”

“Don’t worry, Shasharin, I’ll bring you a souvenir,” Six Balls assured her.

“You will not,” Mobei Jun said patiently, and started up the walkway. Six Balls winked at Sha Hualing over her shoulder and skipped a few steps to catch up to Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe.

The house was no traditional residence, but rather something relatively modern and Western-styled. The vaulted glass ceiling over the atrium-like entryway where they removed their shoes let in a flood of cloud-dappled light from overhead, making it feel even more spacious. Six Balls chewed on her lollipop stick as she un-velcroed her Heelys, looking about with a curious eye. It was true, they’d always known Mobei Jun was the Rich Friend in their group. She always paid the difference on their ticket quotas without so much as a word; if Six Balls hadn’t seen her do it, Mobei Jun probably wouldn’t ever have mentioned it. She didn’t flaunt her wealth, unlike the rich kids Six Balls knew from her school, but Mobei Jun also never hesitated to cover dinner for everyone the second Sha Hualing opened her mouth to complain about her allowance. She always paid for Luo Binghe, of course, something that escaped no one’s notice, but was never commented on. It would only make Luo Binghe feel self-conscious anyway.

Still, while Six Balls had never been under the impression that she’d be letting a mouth go unfed if she didn’t sneak sandwiches into Mobei Jun’s bag, she definitely hadn’t imagined that their bassist lived in the kind of house that looked like it needed a full staff to keep clean. Why the huge house, anyway, aside from being rich enough to have it? Obviously Mobei Jun wasn’t responsible for the house, but Six Balls never got the impression she came from a big family. She hardly talked about her family at all, really, which was okay. That was just the kind of band Proud Immortal Demon Way was: no one ever had to share what they didn’t want to. They might bicker sometimes, and Luo Binghe’s mood could flip at the drop of a hat some days, but that much was agreed upon. Everyone in the band was there for their own reasons, but what they all had in common was that they’d joined the band to have a place to get away.

Maybe it was the vast sense of emptiness in the house Mobei Jun wanted an escape from. Maybe that was why she’d been reluctant to let anyone come with her. If she decided she wanted Six Balls to know, she’d likely just say so.

Mobei Jun pointed her in the direction of a bathroom after they climbed the first flight of stairs, and Six Balls scurried off with a salute. To her mild disappointment, the toilets weren’t anything really out of the ordinary, just really expensive-looking and with a larger than usual array of bidet options to choose from. The bathroom was even equipped with one of those Sound Princess things so no one could hear you pee, even though the door was _way_ too far from the toilet for that to ever be a concern.

While she was washing her hands, Six Balls took note of the little drawers and cabinets in the bathroom. They turned out to mostly hold supplies, although a few were empty. Grinning with her tongue between her teeth, Six Balls dug a pack of gummies out from her bag.

Once she had hidden an individually-wrapped peach gummy in every cabinet, she slipped out of the bathroom and immediately found herself lost in the massive house. She was about to text Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe for directions when she heard a snatch of conversation, and she followed the voices instead.

“We were just leaving,” Mobei Jun said in a clipped tone as Six Balls peeked her head into the room—not a bedroom, but a study. But probably Mobei Jun’s? There was no way she only had one room to herself in this whole house.

Standing not far from Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe, and _much_ closer to the door, was a tall woman Six Balls had never seen before but who had the clear mark of family resemblance. Well, it did seem equally unlikely that Mobei Jun had the entire house to herself. The lady was smiling at Mobei Jun, her posture open, but Six Balls couldn’t detect a hint of kind intent. She leaned away from the room as though pushed back by an icy wind.

“So soon? But you hardly spend any time at home.” Linguang Jun was too polished to pout, but there was a slight tone of admonishment in her voice. And then, before Six Balls had so much as made a sound, she turned and pinned the drummer to the spot with that smile. “Oh, hello there. Is this one of your music friends, Mobei Jun? Really, why don’t you have her stay for dinner instead of going out? You never bring your friends over.”

Six Balls could not help but notice that she seemed to be ignoring Luo Binghe’s presence entirely. Luo Binghe’s eyes narrowed, her grip on the stack of flyers white-knuckled. Six Balls swallowed.

“Linguang Jun,” Mobei Jun said, drawing the lady’s attention back to her, “as I was just saying, we already have plans. I’ll be home early enough to finish my homework.”

“I just worry that you’re not getting enough sleep,” Linguang Jun sighed, while Six Balls debated whether she should try inching into the room, or if it’d be better to stay here in case Mobei Jun needed a man on the outside. “All this time with your friends on top of band practice _and_ student council meetings? It just seems like a lot for one high school student.”

Mobei Jun’s expression didn’t change. She only nodded to Luo Binghe and Six Balls and said, “Binghe, take the flyers and Six Balls out to wait with the others. I’ll be out shortly.”

Six Balls was morbidly curious, but Linguang Jun gave her the heebie-jeebies, and she definitely wasn’t going to argue with Mobei Jun in this situation. Six Balls took a sheaf of flyers from Luo Binghe and, with just one more backwards glance, followed her out of the house.

As soon as their footsteps faded into the distance, Linguang Jun smirked and tucked a rebellious wisp of hair behind her ear.

“Really, Mobei Jun, if you’re going to have friends at all, try to have better taste. What do that girl’s parents do for a living, work in a factory? Just look at her shoes. And do you really think it’s appropriate for you to be seen socializing outside of school with the sort of delinquent who lives in a group home?”

Mobei Jun’s jaw tightened. Linguang Jun’s smile broadened by fractions.

“Oh, did you think I wasn’t aware of your little charitable arrangement? You really don’t need to be worried about what I think, though. Your school, on the other hand…isn’t that sort of thing against the rules?”

Mobei Jun narrowed her eyes and picked up the last sheaf of flyers. She wasn’t going to stand here and let Linguang Jun bait her into a pointless argument. Linguang Jun could report her to her school for breaking the rules—something that could easily jeopardize her position as a student council member—or she could just dangle this taunt uselessly. It wasn’t likely that Mobei Jun could influence her one way or another; an argument would only be entertainment for Linguang Jun in the end. Mobei Jun didn’t get into petty fights, either.

She moved for the door without saying anything. Linguang Jun let her pass. Mobei Jun counted the seconds in her mind as she walked out of the room.

“Just one more thing before you go,” came Linguang Jun’s coaxing voice, right on cue. _Concern, criticize, change the subject_. Mobei Jun stopped. “I couldn’t help but notice the unusually high credit card charge on your last statement. I’m sure you don’t need me to lecture you on responsible spending habits.”

“No,” Mobei Jun said, not turning around. “I don’t.”

“I hope you’re not so naive as to think you can save that place from going under with your pocket change,” Linguang Jun said, her eyes boring into the back of Mobei Jun’s head. Her tone didn’t change. “Do your friends even know? Ah, of course they don’t. I’m sure you think you can take care of it all on your own.”

Mobei Jun turned where she stood, her expression dark. “You don’t need to go back to the Mile High Club.” Her voice was even. “You’ve already done what you came to do. I don’t want to see you there again.”

She didn’t wait for a reply before she turned back and strode swiftly for the staircase, flyers in hand. Linguang Jun had to have some other game in mind besides just personally tormenting her niece—she was smarter than that. Mobei Jun would find out what it was, and whatever it took, she was going to find a way to put a stop to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> six balls & mobei jun is the kind of character interaction that really only makes sense within the context of a niche AU that takes willful liberties with minor characters but you know what? i love it, and it is important to me
> 
> on that note, [here is some art](https://twitter.com/misakisyndrome/status/1348771926198644740) of bang dream AU six balls & sha hualing, which was a lot of fun to do
> 
> a number of people have commented saying that despite being canonblind to bang dream, they are really enjoying those aspects of the fic, and thank you guys! truly! i've just kinda been out here doing my self-indulgent thing and i'm honestly surprised that this many scum villain-only folks are enjoying this and it fills my heart with joy whenever someone says so. if you like the bang dream elements and are here for Music & Friendship emotions, i highly recommend checking out the game on mobile, it is VERY much fun, the writing is inexplicably really good for an idol game and the music genuinely slaps
> 
> ANYWAY that's my shill, if you like shitposting and contextless wips u can find me on twitter [@misakisyndrome](http://www.twitter.com/misakisyndrome)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mobei Jun seems preoccupied, and the whole band is feeling the tension—but the one who really feels singled out is Luo Binghe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PIDW band special chapter ✨ time for luo binghe's friendship arc!

Mobei Jun was even more silent than usual during dinner, seeming to be distracted by her phone for most of the evening. If she noticed that Sha Hualing had her order swapped out for something completely different, she didn’t show it. Her face was as expressive as a stone wall as usual, but there was something extra distant about it lately, especially tonight. Six Balls and Luo Binghe both tried to draw her into the conversation—there was a movie Meiyin was suggesting they all go see together, since they hardly ever hung out aside from band business—but Mobei Jun only briefly acknowledged the attempts before falling back into distraction with her phone again. After a few attempts, Luo Binghe gave up in a huff and decided to ignore her in retaliation, even half-turning away from her as Meiyin listed off the premise for a romantic dramedy to a Sha Hualing who was pretending to look disinterested, but perked up as soon as Meiyin mentioned the anime series it was a tie-in for.

Six Balls, dauntless, frowned a little and prodded Mobei Jun’s leg with the toe of her sneaker. Mobei Jun didn’t react at all, her brow slightly furrowed as she scrolled through her phone. It was true that Six Balls would never press Mobei Jun to talk about anything she really didn’t want to share, but…she was really distracted lately. And that lady, Linguang Jun—definitely a relative, but definitely not Mobei Jun’s mom. She never talked about her parents. Maybe she didn’t have any. Maybe Linguang Jun was her legal guardian? Linguang Jun really seemed like the bossy type. Whatever their relationship was, they obviously didn’t get along.

Yeah, yeah, she wouldn’t pry, but she couldn’t stop her imagination from wondering. Six Balls had never given deep thought to Mobei Jun’s home life, but having been inside that huge, empty house with its fancy toilets and unnecessary number of staircases, she was getting really curious. That, and…Mobei Jun didn’t seem the happy kind of distracted. If Mobei Jun was struggling with something, even if she couldn’t or didn’t want to talk about it, the band would still be there for her to lean on. She had to know that. But she always just took care of stuff without talking to them about it—the studio reservations and paying for them too, covering dinner, going after Luo Binghe whenever her mood swung like a pendulum…Six Balls was pretty sure Mobei Jun had also bought Luo Binghe a new guitar after she’d broken her last one. Mobei Jun always acted like an adult, even when they were playing onstage.

In the end, Six Balls didn’t know what to say, so she just stuffed a pack of Hi-Chews into Mobei Jun’s bag on their way out of Hell’s Bells. Mobei Jun acknowledged it with a nod, and she and Luo Binghe parted from the rest of the group to head in the opposite direction.

If Luo Binghe had wanted to go back to the group home, she would’ve done so without saying anything; she only walked to the station with Mobei Jun if she planned on staying at her borrowed room. She didn’t have to ask. Mobei Jun left it a standing offer for that reason. She wouldn’t pretend she could imagine what it was like for Luo Binghe to grow up the way she did, but she certainly wasn’t going to make it any more humiliating for her.

But Luo Binghe still seemed to be in a mood after dinner and didn’t speak at all on the walk to the station. She sneaked furtive sidelong glances whenever she thought Mobei Jun wasn’t paying attention, waiting for the silence to break. Mobei Jun was perfectly comfortable with silence, and at any rate, she was only ankle-deep in research and still wading deeper.

The train platform was empty, blocks of late afternoon sunlight burning brightly on the concrete. Mobei Jun stood in the shade to avoid the glare, but Luo Binghe stood in the sun, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The only sounds that passed on the wind were the distant rattling of trains and the chattering of birds overhead.

At first, Luo Binghe stared resolutely straight ahead, her brow furrowed and her expression dark. But finally she turned her towards Mobei Jun and burst out, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Mobei Jun looked up. Luo Binghe’s face seemed to glow in the setting sunlight, though her expression was dark, her eyes burning. Mobei Jun tilted her head slightly, her pale hair falling over her shoulder.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re keeping something from us. I know it. I can tell.” Luo Binghe started to take a step towards her, but rocked back on her heels, narrowing her eyes instead. “What did Linguang Jun say to you after we left?”

Mobei Jun was silent for a moment. She glanced down at her phone, then pocketed it. “I’ve never pried into your life, Binghe.”

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened as though she had been slapped.

“It has to do with the band, doesn’t it?”

When Mobei Jun didn’t answer immediately, Luo Binghe pointed accusingly at her.

“That’s not fair! Who was it who told me _you’re not the only member of this band?_ Well, you’re not the only member of this band, either! You can’t just go ahead and decide you’ll take care of everything all the time without saying a thing to anyone else! Why should fixing that stuff be all up to you? Why do you get to decide?”

Her voice was trembling by the end of it, echoing across the platform. Mobei Jun glanced across the empty train tracks. She could hear their train approaching in the distance.

“Linguang Jun knows you’ve been staying at the house.”

“So?” Luo Binghe retorted immediately, but then, in a fractionally smaller voice: “What’s she going to do about it?”

“Nothing, most likely. She probably just wanted to hold it over my head and see how I’d react. She was only waiting to get me alone.”

It wasn’t the answer Luo Binghe had been expecting. She was still searching for a response when their train rattled to the platform. Mobei Jun reached out to push Luo Binghe’s outstretched hand down with her own.

“Let’s go home. We still have homework to finish for tomorrow.”

Luo Binghe’s mouth tightened, and she looked like she might put up some resistance for a moment, but she dropped her hand as the doors opened. She didn’t look happy, but she wasn’t sparking with anger anymore, either. Mobei Jun was used to the cycle of Luo Binghe sulking by now, and didn’t mind when Luo Binghe went directly to her room once they arrived at Mobei Jun’s house, content in the knowledge that Linguang Jun generally kept away from this wing of the house and that Luo Binghe would pass through the kitchen on her way and get herself something to eat. Mobei Jun would be able to focus on her homework for the rest of the night.

And when she had finished her homework, she had her new personal assignment: finding out what Linguang Jun was really up to. Mobei Jun knew there had to be a bigger play here, and if she dove deep enough, she was sure to uncover something.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. It was a text from Meiyin.

Mobei Jun didn’t particularly want to lie to her friends. But she couldn’t tell the truth—she had told Shang Qinghua she wouldn’t, and much more importantly, it would only make them worry. There wasn’t really anything the rest of the band could do about it—Mobei Jun still wasn’t sure what _she_ could do about it—and Luo Binghe would inevitably become fixated on it. They needed to be able to focus on their music; at least Luo Binghe’s current obsession was keeping her on that track. Mobei Jun was still doing her research anyway.

She woke up in the dark, still at her desk. She’d fallen asleep at her laptop, something she hadn’t done since she was in middle school—she must have stayed up too late working on her extracurricular research. It was a little past 1am. Well, she hadn’t slept too long, then.

She finally shed her school uniform in favor of pajamas, neatly hanging her cardigan over the back of her chair, and slipped on her house shoes. She could have simply gone to the master bathroom for a glass of water, but her legs and back were stiff from having been glued in her chair for hours. She elected for the longer walk to the kitchen instead.

Mobei Jun lingered in the kitchen with her glass of ice water in the open silence. She had plenty of quiet in her bedroom, of course, and it wasn’t cramped by any means, but it was still closed off. In here, the silence sprawled comfortably. No shadows of clicking footsteps intruded. Mobei Jun let out one long, slow breath.

Only a few more years before she was legally an adult. Linguang Jun would never intrude on her silence again after that.

She finished her glass of water, refilled it, and walked back to her room. She paused halfway at a junction of darkened corridors, lit only faintly by softly glowing nightlights at fixed intervals, like fireflies arranged on the wall in a perfectly spaced parade. She could hear faint noises coming from the direction of Luo Binghe’s room, just down that hallway. She stood there for a long moment, glass of water in hand, before she turned and walked towards Luo Binghe’s room.

Her house shoes were soundless on the carpet, and as she approached, she could make out the acoustic scratchings of Luo Binghe’s electric guitar. That in itself wasn’t unusual. She always kept her guitar at Mobei Jun’s house—she had never said anything on the subject, but Mobei Jun suspected she was worried something might happen to it at the group home. As she drew nearer, she could hear Luo Binghe, too, muttering to herself through tears and hiccuping sobs.

Mobei Jun stood outside her door for a few long moments, just listening, as the condensation on her glass seeped through her fingers. She knocked once before opening the door.

“Binghe,” she said quietly. Luo Binghe, hunched over on the floor by the bed, jerked with a start and hurriedly wiped her eyes on her sleeve before turning to face Mobei Jun. It didn’t do her any good; her eyes were still red-rimmed, her cheeks sticky with half-dried tears.

Luo Binghe looked away almost immediately, her expression shuttering with the tiniest of sniffles. She picked up her notebook from the floor, staring down at it instead of Mobei Jun.

“Up kind of late, aren’t you?”

“It seems I’m not the only one.” Mobei Jun stayed patiently by the door. “Working on the new song?”

“Well, I have to get it in where I can,” Luo Binghe muttered darkly. “Seeing as you guys have been rehearsing without me.”

Mobei Jun frowned, set the glass of water down at the side table by the door, and crossed her arms. “We’re not excluding you. I told you, it’s so we can focus on refining the music while you work on the lyrics.”

“Or maybe it’s because you guys are working on your own song.” It came out hushed, almost a growl. “Maybe you’re just trying to keep me out of the way so I don’t find out.”

Mobei Jun’s brows drew down. “We’re doing no such thing.”

“ _You_ said we should write it together,” Luo Binghe said, her voice rising, and in an instant she was on her feet, one foot braced on the edge of the bed. Her eyes flashed in the dim light. “That that’s how we would show our growth as a band. But we’re not writing it together! There’s nothing together about it! So what kind of growth are you trying to show, anyway? Is it just that you’re outgrowing me?” She threw her notebook down onto the bed in frustration. “Is it that you don’t need me anymore?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mobei Jun moved into the room in two, measured steps. “We’re doing this _for_ you.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it!” Luo Binghe’s hands curled tightly into fists, white at the knuckles. “It feels like you’re trying to get me out of the way so you can pass me right by. Like I’m going to get stuck watching you all walk away.”

“You were right about one thing,” Mobei Jun said. She reached out to pick up the notebook from the bed. Luo Binghe’s breath stopped. “And so was I. I’m not the only member of this band, and neither are you. We’re _all_ part of this band. We wouldn’t be Proud Immortal Demon Way without you. Don’t mistake devotion for desertion. We won’t leave you behind.”

“But how do I _know?_ ” Luo Binghe’s voice cracked in anguish. There were tears standing in her eyes, ones she couldn’t hide. They made her eyes gleam all the brighter in the darkened room. “How do I know you won’t?”

“You just have to trust us.” Mobei Jun said. She held out the notebook to Luo Binghe like an olive branch. “You should get some sleep. We’ll need you at rehearsal tomorrow.”

Luo Binghe took the notebook after a moment, casting a diffident look at Mobei Jun before nodding slowly. It didn’t seem as though Mobei Jun had completely assuaged her uncertainty, but perhaps she’d settle down now that they’d talked about it. Mobei Jun closed the door behind her when she left, leaving the glass of water behind.

* * *

“Will you read my love line, Meiyin-senpai? _Please?_ I need to know today’s horoscope was wrong!”

Himari all but begged Meiyin, who was carefully applying a coat of varnish to her nails. Meiyin laughed.

“If you don’t believe in horoscopes, then why do you read them?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in them,” Himari said earnestly. “It’s just that I think this new columnist doesn’t know what she’s talking about, and she totally has the wrong idea about Scorpios! _Especially_ when it comes to romance!”

“So why come to me?” Meiyin’s mouth quirked into a smile. “If you don’t like what you hear, won’t you just decide I don’t know what I’m talking about, either?”

“Of course not!” Himari grinned. “Everyone knows your fortunes always come true. That’s why I’ve been telling the band they totally need to come with me sometime! Don’t you think it’d be neat to have our fortunes told right before a concert?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You all seem pretty confident.” Meiyin finished the last nail on Himari’s hand and gently set it down. “What if something I said made you all nervous about the show? Some prophecies are self-fulfilling. Sometimes knowing the future only gets in the way of it happening.”

She capped the bottle with a thoughtful look, though, smiling to herself. “But I wonder if Ran would let me read her love line.”

“Whaaat?” Himari’s voice wound into a wail. “Ran’s?! Meiyin-senpai, what about me?”

Meiyin carefully turned over Himari’s hand and traced a finger over her palm. She raised an eyebrow. “You know, your love line doesn’t change in just a couple of months.”

“Meiyin-senpai, are you teasing me?”

With another laugh, Meiyin released her hand. “Not at all. All I’m saying is that my reading now isn’t any different than the last time. You’re sure you haven’t met anyone by that description?”

“Tall and handsome but with a soft side, a warm smile and an princelike or outgoing demeanor, with a zest for life and a voice that carries…” Himari threw back her head in despair. “No, I haven’t met any boys like that at all! Can’t you give me a little more to go off? Like, say, hair color?”

Meiyin gave her a mysterious little smile. “I’m afraid that’s not how it works. Besides, when did I ever say anything about a boy?”

Himari blinked. “Huh?”

The bell chimed as the door swung open. Luo Binghe strode in, full of purpose, and made a beeline for Meiyin.

“Binghe,” Meiyin said, surprised. “We don’t have practice today, do we? My little sister asked to use the basement tonight for a séance and I already told her she could…”

“No, I—” Luo Binghe glanced at Himari and her expression shuttered. “…Just have a favor to ask.”

“Ooh, are you going to ask Meiyin-senpai to tell your fortune too?” Himari clapped her hands. “She’s really good! But I bet you know that, she probably does that stuff for you all the time!”

Luo Binghe’s expression didn’t change, but her ears went a little red. “Not all the time.”

Meiyin captured Himari’s hands and nudged her towards the UV lamp. “Let those dry before you smudge them. Binghe, why don’t you sit down? I’ll bring some tea out.”

Luo Binghe didn’t object, just took the seat next to Himari. They had really only met those two times, Afterglow’s audition and the subsequent live show, and neither had really been social experiences between the two bands, except between Himari and Meiyin. They’d clearly been neighborhood friends for some time. Judging by the way Himari waved and called out as one of Meiyin’s sisters passed, she was probably friends with the whole clan.

“It’s Luo Binghe, right? The singer?”

Luo Binghe looked up. Just a second ago Himari had been chatting with Meiyin’s sister, but now her attention was on Luo Binghe, who just nodded. Himari beamed. She seemed to be immune to the intimidating aura that put most people off.

“It’s so nice to see you again! It’s too bad we didn’t really get to hang out much after the show, right? We should all try and get together sometime for karaoke or something, you know, like a double band date!”

Luo Binghe, who thought that might be the perfect opportunity to corner Ran and interrogate her about her wardrobe, nodded thoughtfully.

“If we can all get our schedules to align,” Meiyin said as she emerged with a tray, “I think that would be a time. I’d love to get to know your band better, Himari. I think Sha Hualing and Six Balls have a favorite spot they could recommend. Your nails will be done in a few minutes, Himari, so don’t wiggle them around.”

In a slightly rueful tone, Himari said to Luo Binghe, “Since I play the bass, I can’t get real manicures, they’d get messed up pretty much right away, but Meiyin-senpai has this great strengthening polish! Ran and Moca never seem to have any trouble, but my nails break at the drop of a hat. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve it.” She sighed. “You play guitar too, right? Don’t you just hate it when you break a nail playing?”

“It’s never happened,” Luo Binghe said distantly. “I play with a pick.”

“Ahh, you’re so lucky! I tried playing with a pick at first, but it just doesn’t sound right.”

Meiyin smiled as she poured tea. “Our Mobei Jun says the same thing, but she won’t let me do a thing about her calluses.”

“Maybe that’s her secret! I was really impressed by her performance. She was just so cool onstage! Do you think she’d have any tips to offer me?”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“Ahaha…that’s the thing, she’s kinda scary, so I was hoping you could ask her for me…? Hey, how did you guys form a band, anyway? I never got around to asking.” Himari glanced between the both of them. “You all go to different schools, right?”

“Well, Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe both go to the same school, and Sha Hualing and Six Balls are classmates, but for the most part, yes.” Meiyin piled a few rice cakes on a small plate and pushed it and the tea toward Luo Binghe, who received it without complaint. “We met because we all practiced at the Mile High Club. Actually, now that I think about it, it was the current owner who was responsible for introducing all of us.”

Luo Binghe’s mouth flattened slightly, but she didn’t say anything, just sipped her tea. Himari, unable to clap her hands, wiggled in her seat.

“No way! Meeting at a live house…that’s so cool! So you all played instruments before, then?”

“Mm. I think I was the newest to it, come to think of it. I’m not sure when Mobei Jun picked up the bass, but I know Sha Hualing and Six Balls have been doing their jam sessions for a while now. Luo Binghe, when did you start playing the guitar?”

Luo Binghe’s eyes flicked downwards. “Middle school. Second year.”

“Hey, that’s when I started playing, too!” Himari said brightly. “Most of us did, actually. That was when we formed Afterglow!”

“Goodness, it really was that long ago, wasn’t it? No wonder you all play like such pros.”

Himari puffed up a little with pride. “Well, we’ve worked pretty hard for it! But at the start, it wasn’t about getting good. We just wanted a way to stick together.”

Luo Binghe, who had pulled out her phone to check Peerless Cucumber’s blog in apparent disinterest, looked over. “Stick together?”

“Yeah! Well, we’d always been in the same class ever since elementary school, but in our second year of middle school, Ran got placed in a different class from the rest of us. We were all really sad, but it was extra hard on her, she even started skipping classes, and wouldn’t even tell us what was going on at first…”

Luo Binghe looked away, staring down at her phone again instead. If Himari noticed, she didn’t show it.

“But Ran’s never been good at just saying how she feels, you know? She always has to write it instead. She really has to work up to talking to us about her feelings. And being in different classes, it got harder and harder for us to spend time together the way we used to…I think she started to feel like she was really cut off from us. That’s when Tsugu said we should start a band.” Himari pulled her hands away from the UV lamp, examining her glossy nails. “Tsugu used to play piano and Tomoe’s always done taiko drumming, and Ran had her poetry, but…other than that, we didn’t really know anything about making music. We just decided that’s what we’d do, and we’d figure it out along the way. And you know what? We totally did! Obviously we like making music or we wouldn’t still be doing it, but…the reason we love music is because it’s what keeps us together.”

Luo Binghe’s hand was tight around her phone. She didn’t say anything, but her breathing had gone slightly shallow. Himari’s phone buzzed on the table, and she picked it up carefully.

“Aah, I’m so sorry, I’ve gotta run! I’m supposed to meet Tsugu at the station, umm, five minutes ago!” She got to her feet and swept up her bag, waving over her shoulder. “Thanks again, Meiyin-senpai!”

The bell chimed as the door swung closed after her. Meiyin stood up, collected the tray, and inclined her head towards Luo Binghe.

“Why don’t we go upstairs? Then we can talk about whatever you like.”

Luo Binghe followed her up the stairs in silence, but as soon as they were in Meiyin’s room, she said, “I want you to tell my fortune.”

Meiyin set the tray down on her desk while Luo Binghe sat at the edge of her bed. “Let me guess. You want me to read your love line, too? I’ll tell you the same thing I told Himari: it’s going to be the same thing as last time. Honestly, you girls…”

Luo Binghe thrust out a hand as soon as Meiyin turned around and, registering Luo Binghe’s unnerving look of intent, started slightly. Certainly she had seemed uneasy while Himari was in carefree storytelling mode, but this expression…

“I don’t want you to read my love line.” Something desperate flickered in her eyes, and Meiyin took Luo Binghe’s hand in hers. Luo Binghe closed her other hand around one of Meiyin’s wrists. “I just want to know one thing.”

“Let go, Binghe,” she said, pulling away. Luo Binghe let go at once and sucked in a breath, as though waiting for some backlash to follow. Instead, Meiyin took her hand once again, but her eyes were focused on Luo Binghe’s face, soft with concern. “What is it?”

Luo Binghe’s gaze faltered and dropped. “I just want to know…if I’ll end up alone.”

Meiyin’s lips parted, and she let out a sigh. “Oh, Binghe. You don’t need me to tell your fortune for that.” She curled her hands around Luo Binghe’s outstretched one. “What’s this about? Did you and Mobei Jun have a fight?”

Luo Binghe bit the inside of her cheek, staring at their hands. “There’s something up with her that she’s not telling me about. I know there is. And I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell me. And…”

The words caught in her throat. They were somehow harder to say to Meiyin.

“And you’ve all been practicing without me, and spending all this time without me. Mobei Jun only bails on us when I’m there, doesn’t she?”

Meiyin’s brow creased. “Binghe, that’s not true. It’s just one extra rehearsal a week, and—I don’t know what’s going on with Mobei Jun either, but no one is avoiding you. We’re just—”

“Working on our new song, right,” Luo Binghe said bitterly, and she couldn’t stop the words now, tumbling out in between short breaths. “Can we even call it our song anymore? You don’t even need me to write the music.”

Meiyin stroked her thumb over the back of Luo Binghe’s hand. “Of course it’s our song. Binghe, we aren’t going anywhere. You’re not going to end up alone.”

“That’s what Mobei Jun said. I don’t think you’re lying to me. I don’t think she was lying to me, either. So—so why does it feel like everyone’s pulling away?” Luo Binghe pulled her hand out of Meiyin’s grip, pressing both hands to her temples. “Why does it feel so much like I’m the only one left out?”

There were tears standing in her eyes now. To someone else, it might have seemed like Luo Binghe was just being dramatic, but to Meiyin, Luo Binghe was a complicated person who struggled to make sense of the world around her. She was only hurting, that was all.

“You just have to trust us,” Meiyin said, but she’d barely finished speaking when Luo Binghe let out a sound half scoff, half sob.

“Mobei Jun said that, too. But how do I do that? How do I trust anyone when I can’t ever tell what anyone is thinking?” Luo Binghe’s shoulders hunched, and she spoke through her teeth, through tears. “That Himari…she said that when their friend stopped being able to communicate with them, it was hard for all of them…it changed things. But we don’t have that problem, do we? Nothing changes when we stop talking to each other, does it?”

Something in Meiyin’s heart wrenched. She moved in closer to Luo Binghe, an arm going around her shoulders. Luo Binghe rambled on even as Meiyin cupped a hand around her head and titled it against her shoulder.

“I know that we decided to form Proud Immortal Demon Way because we all wanted a place we could escape to, away from the rest of our lives. It was nice that we didn’t have to talk about the things we didn’t want to talk about, that we never tried to force each other to. But…don’t you think we overdid it? We don’t even know important things about each other like when we started playing our instruments or why…” 

Fat, messy tears were dripping down Luo Binghe’s face, but Meiyin held her shoulders steady. Luo Binghe curled her hands in her lap, her nails biting into her palms.

“It’s not like I don’t have things I really don’t want to talk to anyone else about. Of course I do. But the fact that no one ever asks at all…”

She descended into hiccuped sobs, and Meiyin held her tight.

“I’m sorry you feel so alone,” she said gently. “And I think you’re right. At first, I found that distance comforting, but…it’s a little bit too much of a gap, isn’t it? Of course we have fun when we’re together, and we all really love our music, but…”

Luo Binghe wiped her face on her sleeve, but tears filled her eyes again almost immediately. She couldn’t seem to stop them coming.

“Himari said that Afterglow became a band to protect their friendship, but what are we protecting?” 

She finally looked up and met Meiyin’s eyes for the first time, and there was no anger on her face, only plain fear.

“What if music is the only thing keeping us together? What if we don’t mean anything to each other without our music?”

Meiyin bit her lip, and for a moment all she could do was pull Luo Binghe into a tight hug. Luo Binghe didn’t resist or try to writhe away, only pressed her forehead to Meiyin’s shoulder with a muffled cry. Meiyin patted the back of her head, combing her fingers through Luo Binghe’s tangled ponytail.

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” she said softly, “and I don’t know what’s going on with Mobei Jun, either. But you don’t have to worry about the two of us. Maybe we came together because of music, but even if Proud Immortal Demon Way broke up tomorrow, you and I would still be friends. You mean so much more to me than just our music, Binghe. You all do.”

Luo Binghe was still crying, still struggling, but she had her arms around Meiyin’s waist in a grip so tight that it almost made it hard to breathe. Meiyin closed her eyes.

“I think it’s time we started opening up to each other more. It might be uncomfortable sometimes, even painful, but…that’s a mark of growth too. Going on like this, hardly knowing anything about each other even after all these months…that’s really no way to carry ourselves as a band, is it?”

Luo Binghe sniffed, squeezing her eyes shut. Her tears were staining through Meiyin’s blouse.

“It’s not,” she said, her voice muffled against Meiyin’s shoulder. “But I don’t know how to make Mobei Jun understand that. She doesn’t think there’s a problem. Neither do the others. I’m…” She hesitated, unable to bear the bitter taste of the word. “I’m afraid if I try to make her, she’ll just leave.”

“I don’t think she’ll leave so easily. She’s almost as stubborn as you, you know.” Meiyin smiled faintly. “But she’s difficult to read. And Sha Hualing and Six Balls…they’ve known each other longer than any of us. They have their own little world between them. But I don’t think they’d leave just like that, either. There might be a little distance between us, but they’re still our friends.”

Meiyin pulled back a little and dabbed gently at the corners of Luo Binghe’s eyes with her sleeve. Luo Binghe’s gazed dropped, her cheeks red, but Meiyin only smoothed her hair away from her face.

“We’ll figure something out,” she promised. “We’ll find a way to talk to them. It will be alright, Binghe. No one is going to end up alone.” She glanced at the clock on the wall and let out a small hum. “But for now, why don’t you stay here tonight? You know my mother won’t mind. She loves it when we have extra company, no matter what my school says about sleepovers. You can borrow some pajamas—mine might be a little short on you, but I know one of my sisters has something that will fit.”

Her only other options were going back to Mobei Jun’s or the group home. Both felt too lonely to bear right now. Luo Binghe nodded, letting Meiyin prop her back up to a sitting position, and accepted the lace-edged handkerchief held out to her.

“Let’s take it one step at a time. We’ll get through this weekend’s show, and then we’ll find a way to work things out. Mobei Jun might not want to share everything still, but she’ll at least know she can.” Meiyin picked up a brush off her dresser and patted the back of Luo Binghe’s head. “But for now, why don’t you let me brush out these tangles before you go to sleep? And if you like, I can give you a coat of that nail-strengthening polish Himari’s wearing.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Luo Binghe said, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Meiyin’s warmth was comforting, but sometimes she was so giving that Luo Binghe didn’t quite know how to take it all in. “Just letting me sleep here is fine…”

“Ah, but this is how I relax,” Meiyin said, smiling, and she was already loosening Luo Binghe’s hair tie. “So you’d be the one doing me a favor. Besides, how often do we spend time together, just the two of us? Let’s make the most of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that paragraph of poppin'party trope meta from chapter 9 turned out to be accidental foreshadowing. welcome to the realm of bang dream band drama


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moon Dew drops out of the next show at the last minute, sending Shang Qinghua into a panic. Proud Immortal Demon Way and Poppin'Party, about to share a stage, meet for the first time. Someone finally asks Six Balls about her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines please enjoy 💖

Things were starting to look up for the Mile High Club as the seasons shifted to fall. Shang Qinghua still didn’t know if it’d wind up being too little too late, but with Yuka’s help, they were filling out their future lineups, little by little. It still made Shang Qinghua’s heart leap into her throat when she looked at their event calendar to see blank dates, but…compared to a month ago, definitely improving! They even had Poppin’Party booked for this weekend’s show, which was almost guaranteed to have a good turnout: the band’s popularity aside, their terrifyingly determined vocalist had been plastering flyers all over her school _and_ the Hanasakigawa shopping district, not to mention the barrage of reminders and requests for signal boosts all over their social media. When Shang Qinghua stopped by CiRCLE that week to pick up a few more stacks of flyers generously produced for her by Marina (she couldn’t afford that new toner just yet), she saw that someone (Kasumi) had stuck flyers for Poppin’Party’s upcoming show all over one of the windows facing their outdoor cafe. It was probably only because of Marina’s intervention that the flyers were contained to that window, but in her tearful heart, Shang Qinghua thanked Kasumi for her dedication. All this promotion…they’d definitely have a good turnout this weekend!

More than that, Poppin’Party’s vibe was sure to elevate the atmosphere at the Mile High Club. When word got around that a peppy, heart-packed band like them played at Shang Qinghua’s dingy little venue, maybe people would start to think of it as…well, less dingy. Other bands might well follow Afterglow and Poppin’Party’s examples and start viewing the Mile High Club as a stage their band could shine on. Shang Qinghua might have been new to owning a business, and she might have been duped into it, but she knew that diversifying was key.

Plus, she was secretly looking forward to introducing the Moon Dew girls to Poppin’Party. Moon Dew was still finding their footing as a band, their sound still uncertain; maybe Poppin’Party could even mentor them! Kasumi seemed like the kind of girl who liked to pass her undying enthusiasm onto anyone who was willing to listen. No, on second thought, Shang Qinghua knew that that was exactly the kind of girl Toyama Kasumi was.

She would have been lying if she’d said she was without apprehension, though. The gnawing anxiety in her gut was now a permanent association with the days leading up to a show. Proud Immortal Demon Way was sharing a stage with Moon Dew for the first time since the Afterglow concert, and while Luo Binghe hadn’t stirred up any trouble that night (aside from the genre-bending conversation-slash-confession Shang Qinghua had witnessed), Shang Qinghua was familiar with her mercurial moods by now, and didn’t think she was worrying over nothing. Proud Immortal Demon Way wasn’t the most diplomatic band; Shang Qinghua knew that there had been a few crestfallen faces in Moon Dew after Sha Hualing’s introduction—come on, Shang Qinghua knew Sha Hualing was the bratty type who didn’t always think before speaking, but did she really have to imply that the opening act didn’t play _real music?_

But Shang Qinghua was actually a little more concerned about Proud Immortal Demon Way and Poppin’Party. For one thing, between all three bands, Proud Immortal Demon Way’s sound was the only one that didn’t really vibe—Moon Dew used clean keyboards and upbeat guitars, and Poppin’Party’s music on the whole was a lot brighter and more harmonious than Proud Immortal Demon Way’s distortion-heavy sound. They were an awkward choice to bridge the gap between the two other bands, but Moon Dew’s performance was still only at about opening act standards. And then there was a matter of the band members themselves…there hadn’t been any ultimate conflict between Proud Immortal Demon Way and Afterglow, for which Shang Qinghua was extremely grateful, but the real reason was probably because Afterglow's lead singer hadn’t seemed at all interested in engaging with Luo Binghe. But Shang Qinghua didn’t know how Luo Binghe would respond to Kasumi’s relentless enthusiasm—or Arisa’s skepticism, for that matter. Luo Binghe was a prickly thing, and she knew how to make a fucking scene. Shang Qinghua could only pray that her more sensible bandmates could intervene if sparks started to fly. 

[Poppin’Party](https://imgur.com/uukA8bZ) arrived a little early—equal parts enthusiasm and a well-ironed routine by now, Shang Qinghua guessed. And bless them…they came bearing gifts! Shang Qinghua nearly wept when Saya presented her with a little paper bag of fresh goods from her family’s bakery, a thank you gesture for letting them perform at the Mile High Club.

It should really be the other way around, Poppin’Party was the one doing her a favor!

Kasumi was wandering around the performance space while the techs ran light check, the pompoms on her color-splashed stage outfit bouncing along with her. Her eyes were shining as she took in the whole room, arms thrown out over her head.

“Ahh, I knew it!”

Shang Qinghua looked up from the bag of pastries, blinking. She had already devoured one bun and was halfway through the next—she hadn’t had breakfast, okay? She removed the other half of the bun from her mouth. “Ah? Knew what now?”

Kasumi spun around to face her, a sunny smile split across her face. “That this would be a wonderful stage to play on! Ooh, I’m already getting that heart-pounding feeling!”

“We haven’t even started playing yet,” Arisa said, giving Kasumi a flat look while Saya fixed one of the pompoms in her hair. “Save the energy for the show, okay?”

Saya laughed as she fixed one of Arisa’s pigtails, making sure they were even. “Since when does Kasumi ever run out of energy?”

“But Arisa, look!” Kasumi leaped over and grabbed Arisa by the arm, pointing up at the walls, then the ceiling. “Clouds! The sky is painted all over the walls! And up there on the ceiling…stars! Look! It’s like a whole night sky! Don’t you get that sparkling, heart-pounding feeling just standing here?”

“Augh—Kasumi, let go! And no, I don’t! The paint is all faded and it’s even peeling off in places, the effect is totally lost! And—” Arisa lifted one shoe off the floor with a look of disgust. “Why is the floor _sticky?_ ”

“I can hear you, you know,” Shang Qinghua said around a mouthful of bread. Arisa froze with a tiny, choked noise.

“I-I mean—um—”

Shang Qinghua just sighed and put her free hand up. “I’m not saying you’re wrong. But I’m still trying to fix the place up, okay? The last owners left it a real mess.”

“Ohh, Arisa!” Kasumi shook her by the arm even harder. “We should totally help repaint this place! Wouldn’t that be fun? I bet we could get a bunch of other bands to help, too!”

“Can we please focus on the show first?!”

Shang Qinghua found herself chuckling as the techs finally waved Poppin’Party onstage to run through their lighting cues. Man, they really did bring the good vibes. Even though Shang Qinghua’s personal life was crumbling into bits around her and she was still on thin ice everywhere else, her spirits were a little lighter. 

Also, recruiting some enthusiastic teen volunteers to fix this place up? Actually kind of a genius idea so she’ll definitely be stealing it, thank you Kasumi!

Well, she’d need more enthusiastic teens to volunteer in the first place. Speaking of which, where were the rest of them? Proud Immortal Demon Way was only punctual if Mobei Jun hauled their little circus in on time, so they could just be running behind. But Moon Dew? Shang Qinghua had her hands full between overseeing front-of-house prep and her eternal refuge, the drink bar, and Poppin’Party was nearly done with the techs when Yuka materialized behind Shang Qinghua and knocked a can of juice out of her hand and back into the fridge. It landed upright, rattled briefly, then settled into perfect place.

“Those are for customers,” she said ruthlessly. “Proud Immortal Demon Way’s here.”

“I _own_ this place,” Shang Qinghua said indignantly, just for a change of pace, but Yuka ignored her. She glanced quickly at the stage. This would be her last chance to talk to the band one-on-one before she had to start keeping an eye out for Luo Binghe antics. “Oh, good. Keep ’em busy for a few minutes, will you? I just wanna run a few things by Poppin’Party once they’re done.”

“Too late,” Yuka said. The Proud Immortal Demon Way kids were already walking into the performance space. Shang Qinghua let out a gurgle of dismay. True to form, Luo Binghe had stopped midway to the stage to watch, arms crossed and expression cool, although her gaze burned. Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but notice that the band wasn’t clustered so closely together today, and Meiyin seemed to be hovering uncertainly.

Poppin’Party hopped offstage once they were done, and Kasumi stopped only to grab her bag before making a beeline for Luo Binghe, the rest of her band trailing behind her haplessly. It seemed that wherever Kasumi went, the rest of the band followed, however exasperated.

“Hello~!” she said cheerfully, bouncing to a stop in front of Luo Binghe. “We’ll be playing together tonight, right? I’m Toyama Kasumi from Poppin’Party! And that’s Saya, O-Tae, Arisa, and Rimirin—it’s so nice to meet you! What’s your name? And your band? Oh, is that a guitar on your back? You’re a guitarist, right?”

Luo Binghe could only blink in response to this bullet-speed barrage of questions and say, “Luo Binghe.”

“Oh! Luo Binghe from Proud Immortal Demon Way! Shang-san told us a little bit about you. So you’re the vocalist, right? I sing too! Don’t you just love that heart-pounding feeling you get right before a show?”

All of Proud Immortal Demon Way was watching for Luo Binghe’s reaction rather than introducing themselves. Luo Binghe didn’t seem to know how to react to Kasumi’s genuine cheer. But she didn’t have long to deliberate on a response, because Kasumi pulled a paper bag out of her backpack and presented it to Luo Binghe with a triumphant little grin.

“Here, we brought these for you! It’s always good to have a snack after the show.” Kasumi glanced around the room. “Is the other band not here yet? We brought some for them too…”

“Ah, not just yet,” Shang Qinghua said as she hustled up to them, abandoning the drink bar prep for now. She glanced down at her phone with a frown. “They’re running pretty late, actually…”

“We can give it to them when they get here,” Saya said to Kasumi, patting her shoulder, then smiled at Luo Binghe. “It’s just a few treats from my family’s bakery. We’re all looking forward to sharing a stage with you tonight. Please, go ahead.”

With no choice but to accept the gift, Luo Binghe took the paper bag from Kasumi wordlessly. A warm bouquet of scents wafted up out of it, and the rest of the band clustered just a little closer. Six Balls was actually inching in underneath the bag so she could poke at the bottom.

“There’s some bread rolls, but we brought some chocolate cornets too!”

Their doe-eyed bassist Rimi nodded with an enthusiastic little bob of her head. “Yamabuki Bakery makes the best chocolate cornets.” She was soft-spoken and clearly shy, but just as enthusiastic as Kasumi. “You should definitely give them a try! There should be enough for everyone…”

“That’s very kind of you,” Meiyin said with a slanted smile at Rimi, who instantly flushed red.

“U-um—it was nothing, really—!”

Luo Binghe was looking at the bag in her hands with a look of intent concentration, as though trying to divine its meaning by way of staring contest. Meiyin let out a polite cough. “I’m afraid we didn’t bring anything to share, though…”

“Don’t worry about it! The Mile High Club is basically your home turf, right? So if you think about it, it’s like we’re paying a visit to your home! So of course you wouldn’t bring a present!” Kasumi touched a finger to her chin and looked at Meiyin curiously. “Hm, you’re not carrying an instrument…oh! Are you the Meiyin-senpai that Himari-chan told me about? She told me that Proud Immortal Demon Way had a tall, elegant keyboardist who tells fortunes!”

Meiyin covered a dignified little laugh with her hand.

“She said that? Oh, that little flatterer. But yes, I’m Meiyin. And if you like, as a return gesture, I’d be happy to tell your fortune anytime.” She smiled sweetly at Rimi, who looked flustered and starstruck. “I read palms. Perhaps you’ll let me read your love line sometime?”

Rimi only emitted a squeak and ducked behind Kasumi, covering her bright red face with her hands. Arisa watched the scene unfold with deep reservation. Why did it seem that Rimi was always so susceptible to the charms of their extra-charismatic upperclassmen…

Kasumi, on the other hand, lit up like a lantern festival. “Really? That’d be amazing! It sounds like you guys must have a lot of fun as a band! Right, Rimirin?”

Luo Binghe said nothing, though her grip tightened slightly on the paper bag. Six Balls, crouched just beneath it, made the decision to crab walk a foot or so away. Meiyin just smiled.

“We do. Oh, but we haven’t even introduced ourselves properly.” She glanced at Luo Binghe briefly, thinking she might want to do the honors, but the look on her face suggested she was not in the moment. Meiyin went on seamlessly. “As you know, Luo Binghe is on vocals and guitar. This is Sha Hualing, our lead guitarist, and our drummer Six Balls. And this is Mobei Jun, our bassist.”

Kasumi greeted each and every one of them with an enthusiasm so pure it couldn’t have been faked. Arisa, on the other hand, was not impervious to the wave of terrifying teen girl auras that hit her like a brick wall, and she eyed the other band with a great deal more trepidation.

“Is it just me, or are they kind of scary for high schoolers?” she muttered, just loud enough for her bandmates to hear. Saya gave her a rueful smile.

“Well…Meiyin-san seems pretty nice, at least…”

It was clear that Arisa was getting weird vibes from the whole band, and Shang Qinghua couldn’t totally blame her. Generally speaking, every gaggle of teens had its cloud niners and weirdos, but the Luo Binghe-Mobei Jun icy stare double combo was an awful lot. Arisa stared at them with an expression of mixed hesitation and disquiet, then her gaze settled on Six Balls, arms crossed.

“I feel like I’m gonna regret asking this,” Arisa said, although she looked like she was regretting it in the moment, “but…why do they all call you Six Balls?”

Six Balls popped the lollipop out of her mouth with a grin. Sha Hualing was already snickering. “Oh, that’s ‘cause when we were in middle school, one time during lunch Shasharin dared me to see how many gumballs I could fit in my mouth at once.”

She and Sha Hualing turned to each other instantly with a double high five and began chanting, “Six balls! Six balls! Six balls!”

Mobei Jun glanced at Six Balls with a look of faint amusement, one eyebrow lifted. Luo Binghe’s expression had closed entirely. Arisa looked like she might explode with the force it took to contain her natural tsukkomi urges.

“I was right. I completely regret asking,” she muttered to herself. “How did you not choke to death? Where were the teachers?”

Tae, on the other hand, looked at Six Balls in utter awe. “Whoa, six of them? Really? Do you think you could do it again?”

Six Balls, already digging around in her jacket pocket, said, “Yeah, totally!”

Arisa, who could take no more, shook Tae by the shoulder and burst out, “We’re about to play a show! What if she choked on one and had to go to the hospital? It’s a miracle she didn’t the first time!”

They were spared any potential disaster when Yuka came over to wave Proud Immortal Demon Way to the stage to run their lighting cues. With a headset jammed lopsidedly onto her head, half-listening to Yuka and the stage manager’s back-and-forth, Shang Qinghua finished up the drink bar prep—hey, she was actually getting kind of good at this!—although she couldn’t help but glance at her phone every thirty seconds. Still no word from Moon Dew. Sure, they were new and just the teensiest bit flaky, but they were never this late. They were going on less than an hour before doors opened. She really couldn’t afford a no show, not when they might actually have a full house for Poppin’Party!

She ducked out of the performance hall so Yuka wouldn’t hear her third voicemail begging the girls to call her back. Taking advantage of the temporarily empty lobby, Shang Qinghua laid her forehead down on the front desk and let out a pathetic little groan.

The bell on the door chimed, and a light laugh sounded behind her.

“Now, now, what’s with looking so down right before a show? That’s not the right energy at all!”

Shang Qinghua lifted her face from the counter. “Marina-san!”

The doors swung closed behind a grinning Marina. “I finally got a Saturday night off, so I thought I’d come and see Poppin’Party play! And your own mascot band, of course.” She lifted a large, bottom-heavy paper bag. “And I figured you probably didn’t have much time to eat today, so I brought you a little dinner. It’s yakisoba from that place we went to last time.”

Actual tears sprang to Shang Qinghua’s eyes. Marina was a true lifesaver. Ah, with how things were now, what would Shang Qinghua do without her…!

Marina patted her on the head with a pitying smile. “Oh, come on, a few noodles are nothing to cry over. What’s going on?”

“My opening act is a no-show so far, and they’re not returning my calls,” Shang Qinghua wailed, taking the paper bag and hugging it to her chest. “I can’t have this show flop, Marina-san!”

Marina tried to suppress a wince, but failed. No matter how you looked at it, your first act bailing on you was pretty bad! 

“Why don’t you sit down and eat something? You might feel a little calmer once you do.” Marina nodded her head towards the office. “I’m sure everything will turn out just fine, but we can’t have you passing out from hunger mid-show. Then you’d really be in trouble.”

“Marina?”

Shang Qinghua blinked and looked over her shoulder to see Yuka paused halfway through the lobby, a look of muted surprise on her usually flat face. No, not surprise, maybe more like…shock?

Marina blinked in what was definitely surprise, and Shang Qinghua, turned away, missed the brief flush on her cheeks. “Yuka?”

Shang Qinghua looked back and forth between the both of them, a half-forgotten piece of information floating to the surface of her mind like a dead goldfish. “Oh yeah—you guys know each other from way back, right?”

“Ah—we sure do,” Marina said, and though she was smiling, she looked just the slightest bit uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassed. “Yuka, I didn’t know you’d gotten a job at a live house. That’s great!”

All traces of shock disappeared from Yuka’s face, and she widened her eyes at Shang Qinghua in a glare. “You never told her I _work here?_ ”

Shang Qinghua cowered preemptively. “It…never came up in conversation, okay!”

Yuka gave her a look that morphed from frustration to disgust, and she threw up her hands, bringing one down in a smack to Shang Qinghua’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have told me she was coming?” she hissed.

“I didn’t know!” Shang Qinghua whined. “What’s the big deal? I thought you guys were friends! Or…” Rubbing her shoulder, she wrinkled her forehead at Marina. She had the feeling she was missing one or two vital points of context. She’d just seen Yuka emote more in sixty seconds than in the entire several months she’d known her. “Is there, uh, some bad blood going on here?”

Damn it, she’d been so caught up in her own problems and the prospect of teen drama that she hadn’t even considered the possibility of adult drama! In her defense, it wasn’t like Yuka or Marina seemed like they were the drama-inclined type, but when it came to childhood friends, it could be a real grab bag…

“No, not at all!” Marina said, at the same time that Yuka said flatly, “It’s fine.” The two of them looked at each other and exchanged the sort of smiles usually reserved for awkward class reunions. Shang Qinghua…did not feel convinced.

“I really didn’t say I was coming,” Marina said. “I thought I’d surprise Qinghua-san, since I’ve been saying I’ll come to a show for weeks now. And it’s always a treat to watch Poppin’Party play.”

“Marina-san,” Shang Qinghua said with a pitiful look, hugging the paper bag to her chest, “did you come to tonight’s show because you wanted to support the Mile High Club or because you wanted to see Poppin’Party play on your own time?”

Marina just let out a light laugh. Shang Qinghua’s face crumpled.

“People don’t come to live houses to meet the owners,” Yuka said heartlessly. She made to turn around, but glanced at Marina, seeming for a moment like she might say something. In the end, she just shook her head in a brusque nod at the both of them and said, “I’ve got work to do. Come get me when you hear from Moon Dew.”

Shang Qinghua sighed like a deflating balloon, hugged the bag tighter, and shuffled towards her office. The yakisoba, at least, smelled heavenly. First the Yamabuki bakery buns, now this…Shang Qinghua was eating like a very broke king tonight!

“So,” she said, setting the bag on her desk and kicking out a chair for Marina, “hey, what was that all about, with you and Yuka? I thought you guys were old friends. Yuka told me you were in a band together.”

“We _were_ friends,” Marina said. “Back in high school. Now we’re not…really anything.” She pulled a smaller plastic bag out of the takeout bag, the steamy smell of meat buns wafting out of it. “…She told you we were in a band?”

“Oh, yeah. After we met for the first time, I mentioned it to Yuka and she recognized your name. She didn’t tell me that much, though.” Shang Qinghua frowned, tearing the paper bag down the side to get to her noodles. “She wouldn’t even tell me what instrument she played. All she said was that you guys broke up ’cause you stopped having fun with it.”

“Mm, well. That much is true.” Marina took out a meat bun but just held it in both hands for a moment, looking pensive. “We were together all through high school, but in our senior year, we finally decided to break up. It wasn’t that there was any bad blood, or that we’d stopped being friends, but by the end of our last year, we were so far from where we started, not in the way we wanted to be. And then after we graduated, we all went to different universities, and we just…lost touch.”

There was a small smile on her face, but it was a wistful one, almost sad. “I still have my old guitar, to tell the truth. I keep it at the studio so I can play it from time to time.”

“So you were the guitarist!” Shang Qinghua was already shoving noodles into her mouth. “What about Yuka? What did she play? Did you sing too?”

Marina waved her off with a hand. “Ah, that’s enough talk about the past. I brought you something else.”

She produced an envelope from her bag and placed it on the desk in front of Shang Qinghua, who funneled an extra large bite of yakisoba into her mouth before putting her chopsticks down and wiping a hand on her jeans. The envelope wasn’t sealed, so it was easy for her to shake out and unfold the stapled pages. This was…

“An application form?” she said, puzzled. Marina tapped the top of the paper.

“For the Rocking Star Festival! They send us one in the mail every year, so I thought I’d bring you a copy. You’re still going to apply, aren’t you?”

The truth was that Shang Qinghua had totally forgotten about the Rocking Star Festival in all the Linguang Jun-induced panic. But if the Mile High Club could hold on just a little longer…

“Yes! Yes, I am definitely going to do that.” Shang Qinghua stared down at the application fee. It…wasn’t prohibitively high. She could swing that. And it was basically just a signup form, right? It’s not like it’d go to waste. “I just…have to come up with a band to represent us.”

“Not Proud Immortal Demon Way?” Marina asked between bites of meat bun. Shang Qinghua sighed, stirring her noodles.

“Nah…not as they are now, anyway. They’ve never even played a full set before, let alone a stage that big. They still haven’t quite managed to get themselves all pointed in the same direction. I feel like they totally have the potential, but…” She let out a little groan. “That Luo Binghe is just so unpredictable! The Mile High Club’s reputation already isn’t that great, it’d definitely tank even harder if she did something like run off the stage mid-show!”

“Well, you still have some time,” Marina assured her. “For now, get your dinner in while you can. Tonight’s show is going to be nonstop—that’s one thing you can always expect of a Poppin’Party concert.”

* * *

“Hey,” Sha Hualing said, leaning against the side of the vending machine with her arms crossed, “haven’t things felt a little weird lately?”

Six Balls hummed thoughtfully, crouching to catch the can as it thunked onto the bottom of the vending machine. Mobei Jun had asked for a coffee, and Six Balls figured everyone could do with a pre-show drink. “You think so?”

“You don’t? Mobei Jun’s totally been at arm’s length, and I don’t even know what’s up with Binghe.” Sha Hualing flicked a braid around her finger, puffing out a little breath. “She’s always high key, but she’s been extra moody lately, and whenever the new song comes up, she just gets this _look_. Doesn’t she know we’re doing all these extra rehearsals for her? What’s she got to be so edgy about?”

Six Balls rocked on her heels, tapping her chin with the butt of the can. “I dunno. She’s always kinda hard to predict. I bet she’ll tell us if it’s important, though.”

“Yeah?” Sha Hualing looked doubtful, but she’d rather that Six Balls was right. Six Balls bobbed her head in a nod, fishing around in her turtle-shaped change purse for coins.

“The band’s real important to her, right? I mean, she and Momo were the ones who decided to start it in the first place.” She pushed the coins into the machine and pressed her forehead to the glass in thought. “If it has to do with the band, she’ll find a way to tell us for sure.”

“Yeah, because communication is really her strong point,” Sha Hualing said, mouth pinched. “And what about Mobei Jun? You still haven’t told me what happened when you went into her house! Come on, since when do we ever keep secrets from each other?”

Six Balls thought about that.

“There’s a difference between keeping a secret from someone, and keeping a secret for them,” she said. Sha Hualing scowled.

“Did Mobei Jun ask you to keep a secret?”

“Eh…no,” Six Balls admitted. She touched a finger to her bottom lip. “I guess she wouldn’t have let me come inside if she really wanted to keep it a secret.”

“Keep _what_ a secret?”

Six Balls shrugged at Sha Hualing, palms turned out. “That’s the thing, I’m not really sure. I barely saw anything before Momo sent us back out.”

“Saw anything of _what?_ ” Sha Hualing howled.

Six Balls relayed the brief interaction she’d witnessed between Mobei Jun and Linguang Jun before Mobei Jun had sent her and Luo Binghe back outside. Sha Hualing crinkled her nose in a frown.

“So, what, she’s got an evil stepmother?”

“Nah. Momo called her by name, and she didn’t really act like any kind of mom at all. She was faking nice really badly, and it gave me the serious heebie-jeebies.” Six Balls punched a button on the vending machine. Another can clunked to the bottom. “I don’t think Momo has a mom, step or not. But they definitely looked related, so some kind of family. I think they live there in that huge house together. I think that whatever’s going on with Momo…probably has to do with Linguang Jun.”

Sha Hualing took the can of ice cocoa and immediately cracked it open. “Ugh. So, what, this Linguang Jun is trying to put pressure on her to get extra good grades or something?”

“Mm…I think it’s probably more complicated than that. That’s just my feeling, though.”

“Do you think she’ll tell us what’s going on?”

“I dunno.” Six Balls stuck the last coin into the vending machine. “Probably not. I don’t think it has anything to do with the band.”

“But it’s still affecting the band,” Sha Hualing said, agitated. “I know it’s just dinner and stuff, but what if she starts bailing on rehearsals next? What if we can’t rely on her to show up for a show?”

“We can still rely on her,” Six Balls said. She retrieved the last bottle from the vending machine.

“I think we should ask her what’s going on,” Sha Hualing said. Six Balls tucked her turtle purse back into her bag and shook her head.

“I think we should leave her alone. Maybe there’s a reason she’s not telling us. What if it’s something she’s embarrassed about? I don’t think we get to decide that.”

Sha Hualing looked dissatisfied with that, frowning at Six Balls as they walked back to the live house around the corner. “For real? You’re the one who wanted to see inside her house so bad. Did that Linguang Jun really freak you out that much?”

“She was pretty freaky,” Six Balls admitted. “But…it’s not that I don’t wanna know. It’s just that I get the sense that that’s what she’s trying so hard to get away from.”

Sha Hualing made a begrudging little noise and sipped her cocoa. “That’s fair, I _guess_. It just feels wrong, though.”

“Well, Shasharin, you know that’s just—” 

“Don’t say it.”

“—the Proud Immortal Demon Way!”

Six Balls was snickering even as Sha Hualing punched her in the arm when they walked back into the live house. The rest of the band was waiting in the green room; Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe were both tuning their instruments, although there was a frantic aura that rose up around Luo Binghe in waves. Meiyin was seated at her side, calmly reviewing sheet music.

“Coffee for Momo,” Six Balls said, tossing the coffee to Mobei Jun, who neatly caught it out of the air without looking, her other hand still on her bass. “Royal milk tea for Mei-nee, and…wildcard!”

She tossed a bottle of barley tea to Luo Binghe, who caught it, startled. She glanced down at the bottle, then at Six Balls, looking suddenly diffident. Six Balls just winked and tapped the side of her head.

“You don’t have to tell me. I’ve got the Six Balls Sixth Sense.”

Six Balls was hoping for an amused smile, maybe even a laugh, but instead Luo Binghe just reddened slightly and ducked her head, clutching the bottle tightly in both hands. Before Six Balls could ask if she’d said something wrong, a wail of despair sounded from the performance space. Luo Binghe’s expression changed in an instant and she shot through the door, and the rest of the band followed to see Shang Qinghua half-collapsed against the drink bar, her face white. She looked like she might be sick.

“Is something wrong?” Mobei Jun asked sternly. Shang Qinghua stared at her phone and emitted a helpless gurgle.

“They’re not gonna make it,” Shang Qinghua moaned. “Where are we going to get an opening act on short notice? We can’t delay the doors opening, and without Moon Dew, we can’t fill the whole set—”

“What happened?” Luo Binghe demanded.

“Their drummer had a fall and hurt her ankle, and there’s no way she can play!” Shang Qinghua dropped her phone onto the bar and buried her face in her hands. “It’s totally not their fault, it’s not like I’m mad at them, it’s just—now I’m totally screwed!”

Alright, so she was a little mad! It wasn’t their fault, but still! Could the universe cut her a break please!

“Qinghua-san, calm down,” Marina said, exasperated. She was propping Shang Qinghua up by the shoulder and gently shaking her. Shang Qinghua looked ready for her soul to exit her body. “It’s not the end of the world! We still have time for a solution, okay?”

Yuka, on the other hand, took the more direct approach and slapped Shang Qinghua on the arm. “Get it together! Problem solve! Act like you actually own this place for once!”

“You could always start with an open mic instead,” Marina suggested. “That could fill the space—”

Both Shang Qinghua and Yuka turned incredulous looks on her so powerful that Marina wilted immediately. “W-what’s that look for?”

“Are you serious?” Yuka demanded. “There’s no faster way to kill the buzz for a perfectly good headliner than to host an open mic!”

“We’d lose half our audience before Poppin’Party even went on,” Shang Qinghua groaned, looking miserable. Luo Binghe stepped up.

“We’ll fill the space,” she said. “Proud Immortal Demon Way will play a full set.”

Shang Qinghua blinked. Luo Binghe glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the band, her eyes imploring. They all exchanged looks, but none among them had any objection.

“We should have enough material now,” Meiyin said slowly, glancing between Mobei Jun and Luo Binghe. “That is, if you’ll let us…”

Shang Qinghua’s gut felt like it was trying to digest itself once again. She just didn’t have any good choices here, okay! She didn’t think Proud Immortal Demon Way was up to the task just yet, and she was afraid of driving away customers who were coming to see Poppin’Party…but on the other hand, she really didn’t have a chance, and also, Luo Binghe was doing that thing with her eyes that really unsettled the shit out of her so yes sure you can play a full set!

With the matter settled, Proud Immortal Demon Way returned to the green room, although Luo Binghe hung back to walk step-in-step with the rest this time.

“We should play our new song,” she said, but Mobei Jun shook her head immediately, and Six Balls and Sha Hualing exchanged dubious glances.

“It’s not even close to ready yet. We have just enough material to fill the time, so we should stick to what we’ve practiced.”

Luo Binghe’s expression flared at that, her jaw tensing, but Meiyin put a placating hand on her shoulder. “She’s right. We can’t play a song we’ve never practiced together, let alone one that isn’t finished. We’ll take our time and do it right. We’ll only give Shen Yuan-sama our best performance. Isn’t that what you want?”

It worked, and Luo Binghe nodded, her temper already being usurped by passion. That was right—Shen Yuan would be here tonight once again, and Luo Binghe was determined to earn another honorable mention on her blog. Meiyin smiled, first at Luo Binghe, then at the rest.

“Now then. Since we’ll be going onstage earlier than we planned, shall we get changed now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [poppin'party viz ref](https://imgur.com/uukA8bZ), as linked above
> 
> you know who should not be left alone in a room together? six balls and tae
> 
> for the bandori folks keeping continuity score at home: this takes place during garupa season 2, between seasons 2 & 3 of the anime. (for the purposes of this AU, the events of season 3 take place further in the indefinite future)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For better or worse, Proud Immortal Demon Way and Poppin'Party take the stage for tonight's show. Luo Binghe is struck by Poppin'Party's performance, and she finally realizes what her own music has been missing. Shang Qinghua critiques Shen Yuan's moe appeal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are a couple of links to music videos in this chapter, and i highly recommend listening along while you read for an ✨enhanced experience✨! links to lyrics & translations are in the end notes. also, the music is very good
> 
> for those of you canonblind to bang dream: welcome to intense music emotions hour, you're here forever now

“Last minute changes to the lineup?”

Shang Qinghua tensed automatically at Shen Yuan’s voice. She turned around with a frozen smile, her hand immediately moving to cover the poster she was currently amending to remove Moon Dew from the roster. Unfortunately, the poster was much bigger than her hand. Also, they were all over the walls.

“Ahaha, yeah, well, you know, one of the Moon Dew girls fell and hurt herself and now she can’t play…” Shang Qinghua immediately changed tacks and clasped her hands together. “Please don’t write a bad review just because we had a few logistical issues!”

Shen Yuan gave her a bemused look. “Why would I necessarily give a bad review? I haven’t even seen the show yet.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes lit up. “So you are going to write a review!”

Shen Yuan failed to contain a roll of her eyes. “It’s the first show Poppin’Party has played in a while. Of course I’m going to write a review. They actually have something of a following.” She frowned. “Is she alright?”

“Who?”

“The girl from Moon Dew. You said she was injured.”

“Oh—right, yeah.” Shang Qinghua waved a hand. “No, I’m pretty sure she’s fine. It didn’t sound like an emergency or anything, but a drummer really can’t play with a bum ankle.”

“Mm. I suppose not.” Shen Yuan peered at the poster over the top of her fan. “So do you have a replacement?”

“Haha, no,” Shang Qinghua said. She cut off her laughter before it turned into a sob. “Proud Immortal Demon Way’s going to play a full set.”

“Really.” Shen Yuan’s eyebrows lifted. “You think they’re ready for that?”

“Honestly? No, not really? But I don’t have much of a choice.” Shang Qighua sighed. “Just do me a favor, and…if Proud Immortal Demon Way really sucks, please leave it out of your review!”

“I have to maintain my integrity as a critic,” Shen Yuan said loftily, turning her head. “Besides, you can’t improve without honest criticism.”

Her words fell on Shang Qinghua like a comically timed pile of bricks. Please don’t give Proud Immortal Demon Way a taste of your real criticism! There was no way Luo Binghe would be able to handle it!

Shen Yuan was already moving towards the drink bar with an expectant glance at Shang Qinghua. 6 out of 10, Shang Qinghua thought wearily as she hustled to attend to her resident VIP. The drink bribery budget was getting kind of low, too…

“So,” Shen Yuan said no preamble, “you will not believe what Airplane just did.”

Shang Qinghua suppressed a gurgle. What did she do to deserve this! She definitely didn’t ask for this conversation! Also, she was kind of busy getting ready for the show and didn’t really have a lot of time to stand around and chat!

But instead of saying any of this, Shang Qinghua instead managed a questioning noise that sounded a little bit like a nervous laugh. Shen Yuan, who needed very little prompting, continued on with a wave of her fan.

“Just a few weeks into her emergency hiatus, she suddenly announces that she’ll be returning next month!”

She sounded incredulous. Shang Qinghua genuinely had no fucking idea how she was supposed to interpet that.

“Isn’t that…a good thing?”

“It’s just suspicious, is all. Who recovers from an apartment fire that quickly? It makes me question exactly what motivated this sudden hiatus in the first place.”

Shang Qinghua nearly slammed her face into her palm on the spot. What motivated her was the fact that her apartment nearly burned down! Peerless Cucumber, are you running a conspiracy theory blog now?!

“I mean,” she found herself saying, “I know it’s the internet, but if someone says their apartment burned down and goes on hiatus, wouldn’t it be better to give them the benefit of the doubt?”

Shang Qinghua really didn’t need to speak up in Airplane’s defense, Shen Yuan could think whatever she wanted, really, but the problem was that Shang Qinghua couldn’t stop her mouth from talking!

“It’s not like she’s famous enough for that to work as a publicity stunt or anything, right? You really run the risk of losing subscribers that way, it could hurt in the long run even if she received some pity donations in the short term. I mean—not that I know anything about Airplane, haha—but that doesn’t sound like something she would do, does it?”

Shang Qinghua finally cut herself off, nearly biting her tongue in the process. One of these days, she was going to say something really stupid and give herself away! For all she knew, Shen Yuan was baiting her into these little conversations! But Shen Yuan only tapped her chin with the tip of her closed fan, her lips pursed slightly in thought.

“No, it doesn’t,” Shen Yuan said finally, and Shang Qinghua let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Airplane craves attention _way_ too much to take herself off the scene for anything short of a real emergency.”

Another pile of bricks rained metaphysically down onto Shang Qinghua’s head. She nearly buckled under the weight of them. 

Was it really necessary to take a dig at Airplane at every available opportunity! You finally just acknowledged that she had a real emergency, can’t you cut her a break!

Maybe Shen Yuan really had no clue at all that she was talking to Airplane in the flesh after all. This really wasn’t the kind of thing most people would say if they thought the object of their gossip could overhear. But then again, Shen Yuan was a blogger. Shang Qinghua glanced her way as they walked through the lobby. Shen Yuan was tapping her closed fan to her chin in thought, walking in long strides. Shang Qinghua, a half-step behind, seized on the momentary lull in the conversation.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” she said. Shen Yuan cast her a sidelong glance.

“What is it?”

“Are you open to critiques on your moe appeal?”

Shen Yuan let out a choked noise and walked directly into the door to the performance space. Helpfully, Shang Qinghua hopped a few steps ahead and pushed the door open for her. Shen Yuan gave her a deeply offended look.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“I’m just not really sure what you’re going for,” Shang Qinghua said conversationally, holding the door open for her. Shen Yuan snapped open her fan across her face and walked past her, though she was still giving Shang Qinghua a very dubious look. “Obviously you’d have to be a lot more prickly to pull off tsundere—what is happening here is _definitely_ not kuudere—it _seems_ like you’re going for himedere, I guess, with the fan and the aloofness, but you never quite stick the landing, you know? You don’t act spoiled or haughty enough—uh, not that I want you to be _more_ demanding, I’m just saying, if you’re gonna do a bit, you’ve gotta commit to it.”

By the time they reached the drink bar, Shen Yuan was regarding Shang Qinghua with a look of mixed disgust and—aha!—embarrassment. Even with the fan, Shang Qinghua could tell; she was pretty sure she was learning how to read Shen Yuan, and she seemed a little paler than usual, the hints of a flush peeking over the top of the fan a little more accentuated.

“I am a _human being_ ,” she said with scornful indignation. “I am not an anime character! I am a person! People do not have _moe appeal_.” She huffed out a little breath through her nose. But after a moment she cleared her throat, her gaze slanting to the side and her cheeks going a little redder, and she said, “Why don’t you think I could pull off kuudere?”

Marina showed up just then, saving Shang Qinghua from having to muster a dignified response and providing sufficient cover for her to smother a stupid laugh in her elbow. Did Shen Yuan really think she was kuudere material?? No one who rants that much on the internet has any hope of appearing that distant and disinterested!

“Shen Yuan-san! I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” Marina said with a little grin. Shen Yuan, looking either embarrassed or amused, Shang Qinghua couldn’t tell, only lifted her fan and greeted Marina with a little nod.

“It’s so empty during the day, it’s actually a nice place to work,” Shen Yuan told her as Shang Qinghua poured her a drink. Shang Qinghua’s hand twitched, nearly dealing an extra heavy shot of shochu. What a backhanded compliment! It wasn’t supposed to be empty during the day!

“Oh? I hear you come to a lot of shows here, too.” There was a faint glint in Marina’s eyes. Shen Yuan coughed lightly. 

“Not every weekend,” she said, which was true. It would’ve been unreasonable to totally monopolize her weekends—that, and Shang Qinghua didn’t have the budget for a bigger bribe. But at the very least, Shang Qinghua made sure that Proud Immortal Demon Way played on the nights she knew Shen Yuan would show. “But—as I’ve noted on my blog—this place is starting to turn around. You never know when you might discover the next CiRCLE or SPACE. Poppin’Party headlining here might well be a turning point for them—just look what their self-sponsored concert did for Galaxy earlier this year.”

Ah, talk about whiplash! Shen Yuan was so hot and cold, dunking her venue in one moment and then talking about its potential in the next! Blessedly, Marina broke the conversation up by turning to Shang Qinghua and raising a hand.

“Could I get a Kirin when you have a chance?”

“Ah, yeah, sure. That’ll be—” Shang Qinghua hesitated as she set the beer down in front of Marina, glancing at Shen Yuan. It’d look bad if she made Marina pay when she’d just given Shen Yuan a free drink, right? “…on the house!”

Marina gave Shang Qinghua a knowing look and smiled. “Qinghua-san, don’t be silly, it’s just a beer. Here.”

Before Shang Qinghua could scrounge up another objection, Marina had already dropped a few coins on the counter and was looking expectantly at Shang Qinghua, as though waiting for a challenge. Shang Qinghua didn’t even bother with another two refusals before she swept the coins off the counter with an apologetic smile at Marina that radiated nervous dog energy.

As soon as Marina wasn’t looking, Shen Yuan also slid a few coins over, her fan held high and her gaze directly resolutely at the stage. Shang Qinghua didn’t even bother with one refusal this time, hurriedly sweeping them into her hand. Was that Shen Yuan caving to social pressure just now? Would she even pay for her drinks in the future??

“Hey,” said Shang Qinghua, a sudden good mood coming over her after seeing Shen Yuan’s flurry of embarrassment, “you guys want a snack? This one is actually on the house,” she added quickly at Shen Yuan’s eyebrow. “Poppin’Party brought us some stuff from Yamabuki Bakery. I hear their chocolate cornets are pretty good.”

Marina clapped her hands together. “Absolutely! Those girls are so considerate, aren’t they? They often bring snacks to shows at CiRCLE, too. We’ve started thinking of it as a good luck charm.”

She laughed, and Shang Qinghua wondered if Six Balls would ever bring snacks to share with people outside the band. And didn’t Sha Hualing’s family run a restaurant? Come on, guys, treat the poor owner once in a while, okay?

“Alright,” Shen Yuan said, peering over the top of her fan. “Their pastries are fairly famous around here. It doesn’t exactly go with shochu, but…sure, I’ll try one.”

What was that attitude! Either act all princessy and demanding about it or properly say thank you, just pick one!

Proud Immortal Demon Way was stepping onstage now. Marina glanced back at Shang Qinghua. 

“Aren’t you going to announce the lineup change? I know it was on the posters, but…”

Shang Qinghua flapped a hand. “You think anyone here wants to see me on that stage? That’d be almost as bad as hosting an open mic. Nah, I asked Luo Binghe to do it. She might be short a few marbles, but she does have her own charisma, plus I figure the audience’ll handle it better if it segues directly into the music…”

The microphone squealed briefly as Luo Binghe stepped up and wrapped her hand around it. “Good evening,” she said woodenly. “Before we start the show, we’ve been asked to make an announcement on behalf of the staff.”

Shang Qinghua immediately choked on her own tongue. What kind of MCing was that! What was with the lifeless monotone! Where was Luo Binghe’s fire, the passion, the thing that elevated the band’s sound despite their unpolished skills! Marina cast a look back at Shang Qinghua with knit eyebrows; Shen Yuan seemed to grimace behind her fan.

“Due to unforeseen circumstances, the opening act, Moon Dew, will be unable to perform tonight,” Luo Binghe droned on. Shang Qinghua lowered her face into her hands. Next time, she’d definitely ask Meiyin to do it… “In place of their time on stage, we, Proud Immortal Demon Way, will be playing an extended set. We hope you’ll enjoy our performance.”

Augh, every last word, as stiff as a board! And now, instead of transitioning into her usual opening MC, Luo Binghe had just dropped off into lengthening silence. Was she having a hard time segueing into the band’s usual introduction? Anyone would find it hard to transition from such a lukewarm opening!

Meiyin was nodding subtly in encouragement at Luo Binghe, who cast an uncharacteristic glance over her shoulder at her bandmates. No, no, always face forward! You just look nervous when you do that, that’s not going to make the audience feel good about your performance!

Sha Hualing was already leaning towards her mic, mouth open, but Mobei Jun caught Luo Binghe’s glance and gave her a meaningful look. Luo Binghe tensed slightly, her gaze flaring briefly, but she seized the microphone again.

“We’ve been performing here ever since we started our band,” she said, just as Sha Hualing started to rattle off her own introduction. Both of them cut off abruptly and looked at each other; Sha Hualing pursed her lips at Luo Binghe, but let her continue. Luo Binghe faltered only slightly. “…But tonight is the first time we’ve been given a chance to play a full set. And we’d like to take a moment to thank the Mile High Club for that opportunity.”

There was a smattering of applause from the audience, a little blip on the lifeline that was tonight’s vibe. Shang Qinghua found herself holding a can of juice with a crushing grip as she silently pleaded for Luo Binghe to skip the courtesies this time and just start playing already. The customer who had ordered said juice was looking impatient.

Luo Binghe looked like she was finally finding her footing again. Leaning into the mic, her eyes sharp on the audience—always seeking out that one special face—and said, “This is ‘Black Moon, White Lotus’.”

She raised a hand above her head, fingers splayed wide. Right on cue, Six Balls counted them in, and then the Mile High Club was awash in Proud Immortal Demon Way’s music, wave after wave of soaring synths and heavy guitars. It…definitely wasn’t their strongest performance, Shang Qinghua thought, and having seen virtually every one of their performances, she felt qualified to comment. It wasn’t bad or anything, the crowd seemed to be getting into it, but the band felt just a little bit out of sync. Luo Binghe’s effortless and kind of terrifying charm had wavered tonight, and Shang Qinghua was…worried? She could be worried about them, they were practically her children, after all!

Marina, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the show, bopping along with her drink in hand.

“Hey, your in-house band’s not bad,” she said over her shoulder to Shang Qinghua, but Shen Yuan’s fan fluttered in disagreement.

“I’ve heard better,” she said, her tone unimpressed. Marina smiled in appeal.

“Aha, you don’t need to be quite so harsh, Shen Yuan-san, they’re only in high school and still a relatively new band, after all…”

“No, I’ve heard better from _them_ ,” Shen Yuan said. “I actually think they have quite a bit of potential, and they might even go far if they put in the work, but this? This isn’t progress. Their performance with Afterglow was far better.” She sighed. “I have to say, it would be a shame if this was the beginning of the end for Proud Immortal Demon Way. You hate to see it, but it happens all the time—band members start drifting apart, their sound never really meshes, and they realize it’s not so much fun after all and call it quits.”

Marina’s smile took on a woeful shade, cupping her drink in her hands. Shang Qinghua grimaced, sucking in a breath through her teeth, but while she could keep one ear out for Shen Yuan’s commentary, the customers had her busy otherwise. Despite being such a warm person, Marina could play it surprisingly close to the vest—was it possible that Shen Yuan didn’t know about Marina’s old band or what had happened? Hell, Shang Qinghua barely knew. She crossed her fingers in her mind, silently calling out for Shen Yuan to please read the room for once okay!

“It’s too early to say something like that, isn’t it?” Marina said, and even through the noise, Shang Qinghua could detect the wistful tone to her voice. “I mean, it’s one thing to go through a rough patch, but for a band to actually call it quits and decide to formally break up…it’s a big deal for everyone involved.”

“Marina-san’s right,” Shang Qinghua butted in, hurriedly shoving a beer across the counter at another customer. At least now that the show was getting underway, the drinks line was dwindling. “They’re friends! There’s no way they’d break up just like that. And they are kids, you know? Maybe they just had a spat at lunch over who got the last croquette or whatever, you never know…”

Shen Yuan, who clearly wasn’t expecting objection from all sides, leaned away from them slightly, her fan held close to her face. Sometimes Shang Qinghua was possessed with the powerful urge to slap the fan right out of her hands. It’d be worth it just to see her face, right? Since she went to all that trouble to hide it…

Ah, no, it’d definitely ruin what pitiful excuse for business relationship they had, it was a no go! 

“At any rate, they certainly weren’t ready for this,” Shen Yuan said severely, and Shang Qinghua twitched as the words hit her like bullets. That was definitely a criticism of her, not Proud Immortal Demon Way, even if Shen Yuan didn’t turn around to say it! “If anything, this might constitute a setback for them. After all, this is a lot of pressure on them, isn’t it? Being asked to perform a full set at the last minute…if it goes badly, it could really shake their confidence.”

Whoever had given Shen Yuan access to that lever, they really needed to rethink things and revoke it, because Shang Qinghua was getting really tired of these bricks crashing down on her head! Besides, she hadn’t asked them to, they’d volunteered, and what was Shang Qinghua supposed to do, none of this was her fault and it wasn’t like she really had a choice…

But instead what she said was, “Haha, so that means you’ll be a little gentle in your review, for the sake of their confidence?”

Shen Yuan turned to shoot her a look over the top of her fan. Shang Qinghua’s soul crumpled in on itself like a crushed soda can.

It really wasn’t a terrible show; it was just that Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan had both seen enough of their performances to know the difference. And now it was going to be on Shang Qinghua’s mind, too! All she wanted to do was lift those kids up, and now she might have set them up for failure instead?!

But the crowd didn’t hate it, and as long as they stuck around long enough to hear Poppin’Party play, then they’d definitely walk away from tonight with a good impression, and that was what was the most important, after ticket sales, which had been pretty good! Shang Qinghua might even be able to treat herself to some cup noodles—or, ah, no, better make it something safer like a meat bun…

The crowd was waving their light sticks in wild unison by the time Sha Hualing’s last squealing guitar note died out, and a burst of applause echoed around the room. Luo Binghe wiped the sweat from her forehead, her gaze laser-focused on the drink bar. Shen Yuan wasn’t clapping with the rest of them, fan still in hand. Luo Binghe felt her stomach sink and her heart crawl up into her throat simultaneously. Meiyin hooked an arm around hers with a gentle tug and guided her off the stage, back towards the green room.

“Don’t look so down, you did just fine,” she murmured, but Luo Binghe’s gaze was already averted. “Every performance is practice, right?”

“You guys were so cool!” Kasumi was bursting with energy, leading the rest of [Poppin’Party](https://imgur.com/uukA8bZ) towards the stage in their colorful stage outfits, but she came to a hopping stop in front of Luo Binghe rather than passing her. “That was such a heart-pounding performance! Ooh, and your outfits! Do you make them yourselves?”

“Nice solo on that last song,” Tae said to Sha Hualing, who preened with a smug little smile, and she nodded at Six Balls, too. “It was on the spot, right? That was some solid improvisation from both of you. You guys must spend a lot of time jamming together. What’s your secret?”

“Snacks,” Six Balls said sagely, and Tae nodded in solemn understanding. Arisa was trying to shove both her and Kasumi forward with all her weight.

“Come on, get to the stage, it’s our turn!”

Kasumi let out a sheepish little laugh and waved to Luo Binghe as she hustled by. “Thanks so much for your performance! You did great!”

Arisa, taking up the rear of the band, paused just before the stage, arms crossed. “Good work,” she finally said, if a little begrudgingly, and she hurried turned and stalked onto the stage before anyone could tell she was flushed. Six Balls and Sha Hualing high fived each other and let out explosive breaths in unison.

“I need a cold drink,” Sha Hualing puffed, tugging at her collar. Six Balls reached over with a handkerchief to dab at the sheen of sweat on her forehead, which Sha Hualing leaned into while she tried to fix a braid that was coming loose. “ _And_ to take off this whole thing. Come on, let’s get changed and grab a drink.”

“Yes!” Six Balls pumped a fist. “Drinks on the house, says the owner. Maybe she’ll give us some free snacks too?”

“Not yet,” Luo Binghe said. She hadn’t moved from where she stood, gazing at the stage where Poppin’Party was assembling. “I’m going to stay a little longer. You all go ahead if you want. I want to see what kind of show they put on. I want to hear what kind of sound they have.”

“I’m interested too,” Mobei Jun said, coming to stand beside her. “I’d like to see what it is about them that draws such a crowd.”

“Mm…I’ve heard one or two of their songs before through Himari,” Meiyin admitted, “but I’ve heard their live shows are something else. I’d like to see what they do with all that energy.”

“I’ll pass,” Sha Hualing said loftily. “That kind of cutesy upbeat music isn’t for me.”

Six Balls, who had already nipped into the green room and returned with an armful of water bottles and the Yamabuki Bakery bag, grinned at Sha Hualing. “Oh yeah? Didn’t I just see you walking out of the music store with a Pastel*Palettes single the other day?”

Sha Hualing glared at her. “Shut up! It was only because I thought Afterglow’s version of ‘Y.O.L.O!!!’ was cool, and you know what? It definitely was not as cool as the original anyway!”

“Yah-huh,” Six Balls said, passing out the water bottles. She had to press one into Luo Binghe’s hand; their vocalist’s attention was already locked in on the stage. “That’s totally why you’ve been bopping to it all week.”

“Traitor,” Sha Hualing said sulkily, but she accepted a bottle of water and hung back to watch the show.

“Hello to the Mile High Club! We’re so happy to be here! Is everyone having a good time?” Kasumi’s cheerful voice sounded through the performance space, and she shielded her eyes against the stage lights as the audience applauded in response. “This is our first time performing here, so we’d like to thank the staff for letting us use their stage tonight! And can we get another round of applause for Proud Immortal Demon Way for a super exciting performance?”

Luo Binghe’s arms tightened across her chest as another burst of applause sounded from the crowd.

“Since it’s our first time here, I’d like to introduce the band,” Kasumi continued. “That’s Hanazono Tae on guitar, Ushigome Rimi on bass, Yamabuki Saya on drums, Ichigaya Arisa on keyboard, and I’m Toyama Kasumi on vocals and guitar!”

Each of the band members played their own little sting as Kasumi introduced them, and then, in unison, they chanted, “And we’re Poppin’Party!”

The light sticks were already waving in the air; Luo Binghe could see the colored lights reflecting off the stage. Kasumi held the microphone and beamed out over the crowd.

“Thank you all so much for coming to see us play! We hope you’ll enjoy our first song, [Kizuna Music](https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1Ut411q7Xf)!”

Saya counted them in, and instantly the Mile High Club was filled with the rich sound of crashing drums and the mingling harmonies of the guitars and keyboard. At first blush, it just sounded like pretty music, but watching the five girls play together onstage, each of them with a smile on their faces, it was clear that their sound was enriched by the way they played it. The five of them seemed to come together so effortlessly.

Luo Binghe, arms crossed, had been preparing herself to be underwhelmed. After all, no matter how much cheer Kasumi might exude, that didn’t necessarily mean she had any substance. But as Kasumi’s heartfelt vocals poured in over the waves of warm, cascading sound, Luo Binghe found it impossible to be unmoved. Her eyes widened briefly, her lips parting, and she drew her shoulders in, as if bracing herself.

“That sound…”

Meiyin covered a smile with her hand. “They do sound wonderful, don’t they? They’re all just so cute.”

“It’s more polished than I was expecting,” Mobei Jun noted, with a studious tilt of her head. “There isn’t a single individual on that stage. They’re all playing as one.”

“One heart,” Luo Binghe muttered to herself. Meiyin and Mobei Jun glanced over at her; her eyes were boring into the back of Kasumi’s head, smoldering, but she didn’t look angry, just…struck. “It’s like they’re all playing from the heart, all at once. Their feelings come through so clearly. You can hear it.”

She looked down at her clenched hand, then forced it to relax and open, her guitar pick nestled in her palm. “In every beat, in every word…how does she do it?”

Luo Binghe turned suddenly to Meiyin and Mobei Jun and said, “We can’t underestimate them.”

Meiyin and Mobei Jun exchanged another glance, this one a shade more bemused. Surely the only one who here who was taking it so seriously was Luo Binghe…

“They’ve been playing together longer than we have, and some of their musicians are much more experienced,” Meiyin pointed out gently. “I’m sure there’s a lot we could learn from them.”

She was hoping Luo Binghe might see Poppin’Party as their peers at the least, and not just a rival for Shen Yuan’s attention. Luo Binghe was so distressed about the distance between herself and her bandmates that she didn’t seem to consider how the distance she put between herself and the rest of the musical world might be exacerbating her sense of loneliness. But she only narrowed her eyes and turned back to the stage with a cool gaze. Mobei Jun cast Meiyin a questioning look, but Meiyin only smiled and shook her head. 

As the guitars faded, the crowd erupted into applause with an energy they hadn’t shown for Proud Immortal Demon Way. Behind the drink bar, Shang Qinghua permitted herself a tiny sigh of relief. They’d lost a few customers to disinterest after the first song or two from the first band’s set, but most of the audience had stuck around for Poppin’Party; at this point, it wasn’t just about tonight’s ticket sales, but making sure people wanted to come back for more. While business was ticking up lately, especially with Yuka’s extra help in scouting, the truth was that having the same small rotation of bands to book every weekend was bad for business, and if they couldn’t continue to diversify, their progress was going to plateau out and stagnate. At first, just managing to put a couple of bands on the stage every weekend had been the priority, but the work didn’t stop there. The reality was that most places featured five or six bands a night, with shows going a lot longer, which meant more in drink and merch sales—that, and the plain fact that while quality was definitely important, people wouldn’t show up if the quantity was too low! Moreover, if they could book a _truly_ full lineup, they could charge more for tickets, too. As she watched Poppin’Party sweep the crowd away with their sheer energy, Shang Qinghua started to feel like the peppy pop rock band was yet another step on the road to getting them there. She was starting to think she needed to rework her marketing strategy to incorporate flyers distributed at high schools. Of course, it’d be creepy if she went to hand those out herself, but if she could get a few bands to help her out…

Shang Qinghua found herself grinning as the band rolled into another song charmingly titled “Sparkling Dreaming ~Sing Girls~” and leaned forward to where Marina was happily hopping along in her chair. “They really do have fun up there, huh?”

“It’s what brings people to their shows,” Shen Yuan said, and Shang Qinghua could tell even from this angle that she was smiling behind her fan. “Sincerity goes a long way. You can write all the fancy lyrics you want, but if they’re empty words, they’ll only go so far.”

Damn, deep statements from the blogger who wrote under the handle “Peerless Cucumber”. But still, she was…actually smiling? Gasp, was _this_ what Shen Yuan looked like when she was having fun (sober version)?

Marina, who’d been discreetly mouthing along with the lyrics into her drink, lowered her glass with a flushed smile. Technically there was an alcoholic drink limit per person, but Marina was a friend and, more importantly, a paying customer, and Shang Qinghua wasn’t going to stop the beer coming. She probably didn’t have a lot of opportunities to drink at shows. “It just makes you want to get up on the stage and play with them, doesn’t it?”

“Marina-san,” Shang Qinghua said, leaning forward to pour Marina another beer with a miserable smile, “is there a reason you never mentioned Poppin’Party before I met them by chance?”

Marina coughed and looked away with a laugh, flapping her hand. “Ahaha, I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

The corner of Shang Qinghua’s mouth twitched. “Could it be that you’ve been trying to keep them to yourself?” She leaned in closer as the beer slowed to a drip. “What was all that about live house girls sticking together again?”

Marina’s laughter creeped up an octave, leaning away to maintain what she was starting to think by necessity as a ‘non-threatening distance’. “Of course not, ahaha, I’d never—oh!”

She leaned just a little too far, and her rogue elbow jammed into Shen Yuan’s side as she overbalanced and immediately tried to recover. Shen Yuan let out a little _hrgh_ sound and doubled over on her stool, her face buried ungracefully in her fan. Shang Qinghua tried to swallow her snicker but choked on it even as Marina hurriedly righted herself and reached out to gently touch Shen Yuan’s shoulder.

“Oh Shen Yuan-san, I’m so sorry! Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I? You look a little pale—”

“I’m fine,” Shen Yuan said, albeit through gritted teeth. Her smile as she sat slowly back up was fixed and almost immediately covered by her fan. But—yeah, even in the flashing lights, Shang Qinghua could tell that she looked just a little…unwell? She inched gingerly off the stool and to her feet, immediately heading towards the door. “I’ll be right back.”

“Uh, sure, I’ll hold your drink for you,” Shang Qinghua called after her, but Shen Yuan didn’t turn around. She frowned at the drink on the bar and nudged it closer to herself. It’d barely been touched. Man, if you were going to order something expensive, the least you could do is actually drink it!

Marina was still fretting, her hands pressed to her face with a look of abject dismay. Shang Qinghua waved away her concerns with a hand.

“She’s fine, Marina-san. She’s a blogger, she doesn’t need both kidneys for that.”

Marina buried her face in her hands, then lifted her face enough to glare at Shang Qinghua. There was absolutely nothing threatening about it. “This is your fault! If she gives CiRCLE a bad review the next time she comes to a show, I’m blaming it all on you!”

“At least you don’t have to give her free drinks to get her to come to a show!”

“True…” Marina sat back in her stool with a little sigh, looking deeply thoughtful. “We’ve never had to resort to bribery…but I know your situation is different, Qinghua-san. Of course you’d have to stoop to those measures, you have so few options…”

Ah…so Tsukishima Marina was the “brutally honest, no filter” kind of drunk.

“When you say it, Marina-san, it sounds worse than it actually is…”

A few songs later, Shen Yuan returned with only a slight clearing of the throat as her reintroduction and Poppin’Party were starting to wind down the show. Kasumi waited until the current round of applause was finished before leaning in towards the mic.

“Everyone, thank you so much for coming to see us tonight! We can tell you’re really having a blast!” Kasumi beamed out across the sea of light sticks, but then her expression softened. “This next song has a special meaning for us. We wrote it when we were going through a hard time as a band. It felt like one of us was drifting farther and farther away, and we weren’t sure what was going to happen to Poppin’Party.”

She glanced over at Tae, who tilted her head in a nod and smiled. Kasumi’s own smile brightened. Luo Binghe, who hadn’t moved from where she stood since Poppin’Party started playing, watched with a keen, single-minded focus, her eyes slightly wide and her breath shallow.

“We wrote this song to remind us of where we started and how far we’ve come,” Kasumi said as the stage lights began to dim. “And how far we hope to go. We want to face the future together, as a band. So I hope you’ll all enjoy our last song…[Returns](https://www.bilibili.com/video/av91103376).”

This song didn’t open with a crash of drums or bright piano chords, but with a simple blend of somber guitars that resounded throughout the small performance space. When Kasumi sang, it was with a clear voice rich with emotion. Luo Binghe was rooted to the spot. It felt as though her own heart was trembling with every note.

This was it. _This_ was the kind of music she wanted to make, the kind of music that communicated feelings so clearly and so strongly. Listening to this now, it made Proud Immortal Demon Way’s limited discography feel somehow empty. It wasn’t that it was bad music, but none of it cut across how she truly felt, down to the heart. It didn’t resonate like this. Not even the song she was trying to write for Shen Yuan-sama was so unselfconsciously expressive. Why was it so hard for her to put her feelings into words and music, the way Kasumi and her band seemed to do so effortlessly? Why didn’t her music resonate with more than just passion and energy? What did she need passion for if nothing she really felt came through in their music? Why was it that she always struggled to convey what kind of music she really wanted to make to her bandmates? As Luo Binghe watched the band’s dazzlingly lit silhouettes and listened to the way their instruments and voices came together as one, she couldn’t help but think, over and over—why couldn’t she have that?

Tears stung in her eyes, and she blinked them away furiously, refusing to look away. If this kind of music was born out of strife and suffering, then shouldn’t she be able to make it too? She had suffered enough, right?

But alone. Always alone, even in the studio, even in Meiyin’s basement, even in her borrowed room at Mobei Jun’s mansion—they had all put walls up, and at first Luo Binghe had done it to protect herself. They all had, hadn’t they? But they’d built them too high to see over, and Luo Binghe felt like she was clawing at brick with bare fingers. She didn’t know how to knock them down, how she could connect herself with the others in a meaningful way, a way that would infuse their music with that raw feeling. She wasn’t even totally sure they all wanted to.

Eventually, all the instruments faded out except for Tae’s guitar, softly repeating that somber riff, and Kasumi grasped the mic and sang the song’s final line.

“ _Thank you…the song that shakes my heart returns._ ”

Luo Binghe turned abruptly and walked back towards the green room as the audience erupted into applause, her fists clenched at her sides. The band was crowded behind her, and she brushed past Six Balls and Meiyin without a word. Six Balls turned, blinking wide eyes.

“Bingbing?” she called out, but Luo Binghe didn’t answer. Meiyin shook her head.

“Let’s leave her for now. I think she just needs a breather.” She smiled then, as Poppin’Party came off the stage with a rush of laughter and gasping for breath, their eyes bright and their faces shining with sweat.

“Ooh, that was so sparkling and heart-pounding!” Kasumi high-fived Tae, while Arisa doubled over, panting. Saya handed a bottle of water to Rimi, who took it with several grateful sips. When she lowered the bottle, Meiyin offered her a lace-edged handkerchief with a smile.

“Here, use this. You worked up quite a sweat out there, didn’t you?”

Rimi flailed a little, her cheeks even redder. “U-um—are you sure? It’d just get dirty…”

Meiyin only let out a sweet laugh. “That’s what it’s for. You can give it back to me later.”

Rimi took the handkerchief with both hands, her eyes wide and her face flaming red. “Th-thank you! I’ll make sure I clean it before I give it back to you! Oh, but, um, I don’t know when I’ll see you again…”

Meiyin covered a sly smile with her hand. “Why don’t we exchange numbers, then?”

“Wow,” Tae said, observing the scene with wide eyes. “She’s pretty smooth, huh?”

Rimi hid her face in the handkerchief with a little squeak. Arisa immediately smacked Tae on the shoulder.

“Don’t encourage her,” she hissed. “Or any of them! I’m really not sure we should get too involved with them, or this live house, for that matter. They’re a real bunch of weirdos…”

“But we’re a bunch of weirdos too,” Tae said at normal volume, blinking. “Kasumi’s always saying weird stuff like ‘sparkling and heart-pounding’, Rimirin has a separate stomach just for chocolate cornets, and you give all your bonsai trees weird names.”

“Sh-shut up! I do not!” It was Arisa’s turn to flush. “They’re totally normal, traditional names! And—and what about you and Saya?!”

“Hmm…” Tae thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Nope, we’re pretty normal.”

“Like hell you are!”

Saya let out a sheepish laugh, turning to Proud Immortal Demon Way with an apologetic nod. “Aha…sorry, the group can get a little amped up after a show. Will you let us treat you to a little post-show snack? If you hadn’t stepped up, we wouldn’t have had much of a show tonight, and we’d like to thank you.”

“Ah, that’s lovely of you, but…” Meiyin cast a glance back towards the green room. “I’m afraid we’ll have to pass tonight. Perhaps another time?”

“Sure! If you give Rimirin your number, we can get in touch later.”

Sha Hualing gave Meiyin an outraged pout—who passes up free food!—but Six Balls tugged her along with the rest of the band, making sweet promises of all-you-can-eat snacks back at her place. Mobei Jun nodded at Poppin’Party and took up the rear of the procession to the green room. Poppin’Party followed soon after, and they fell into chatter amongst themselves as they changed out of their stage outfits. Luo Binghe was the only one who was still in her stage outfit, standing in the corner and staring at the guitar pick in the palm of her hand. She closed her fingers tightly around it as she heard her bandmates approach.

“What are you hanging around here for?” Sha Hualing said. “I thought you’d be hunting for your future wife.”

Luo Binghe squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t face Shen Yuan-sama. Not after that performance.”

“It….really wasn’t that bad, you know,” Six Balls said, looking just a little crestfallen. “I guess that wasn’t our best groove, but it could’ve been way worse.”

“But it wasn’t good enough,” Luo Binghe muttered. She didn’t seem angry, but distressed. Mobei Jun frowned slightly.

“So we’ll keep on rehearsing. Besides, this was a milestone for us—rewriting our setlist the night of the show, not to mention the stamina it takes to play a full set. We’ve achieved something.”

Luo Binghe said nothing, a decidedly gloomy air hanging over her. “I’m going home,” she said abruptly and turned to leave, stage outfit and all. Sha Hualing opened her mouth to say something, but Six Balls silenced her with an elbow to her side. When Luo Binghe was gone, Meiyin let out a sigh. Six Balls’s mouth slanted unhappily.

“Think she’s mad at us?”

“No,” Meiyin said, “If anything, I think she’s mad at herself.” But she mustered a smile at the rest of the group anyway and ushered them to the changing area. “Let’s get out of these outfits and clean up so we can go home, shall we? I think we all need to rest after a show like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a lot of fun with this chapter and i hope you enjoyed it too! luo binghe & kasumi is a dynamic that i hadn't planned on but is turning out to be delightful. here's a link round-up:
> 
> [poppin'party viz ref](https://imgur.com/uukA8bZ)  
> [Kizuna Music](https://imgur.com/uukA8bZ) video, [lyrics & translation](https://bandori.fandom.com/wiki/KIZUNA_MUSIC%E2%99%AA#English)  
> [Returns](https://www.bilibili.com/video/av91103376) video, [lyrics & translation](https://bandori.fandom.com/wiki/Returns#English)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to pell & max who team workshopped the name of sqh's live house and thank you ESPECIALLY to harry for incubating this au with me. bang dreams really do come true


End file.
